


The Doctor's Son: Book I

by littledragon94



Series: The Doctor's Son Trilogy [1]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: Character Death, F/M, Gen, Minor Violence, Multi, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2014-06-10
Packaged: 2017-12-19 08:25:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 46,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledragon94/pseuds/littledragon94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian Poisson, or Dorian Smith as he is more commonly known, is the half-Time Lord son of The Doctor and Madame Du Pompadour He's lived on earth for 250 years waiting for the chance to finally meet his father. But when the time finally comes for the two to meet, how will The Doctor react to the shocking news that he has a son?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unearthly Child

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! This is the first multi-chapter thing that I've actually completed, so I thought it was about time I posted it on here (it's already on FF.net and Wattpad too).
> 
> I shouldn't need to say it - I do not own Doctor Who or anything to do with it. Only the OCs are mine, all mine! mwahahahaha!
> 
> Moving on, I'd like to thank my awesome beta reader (thestairwell) for prodding me along with this. It's taken forever, but it's done!

_**London, Earth. 2005** _

Dorian heard the anguished cries of those left behind echo in his mind. There was nothing he could do about it as his hands flicked switches and pressed buttons on the living console in the centre of the massive room.

With a grating wheeze, Dorian was travelling in time, running from the war on the other side of the doors of the blue 1960’s Earth Police Box.

But it wasn’t Dorian who was running. It wasn’t Dorian controlling the hands that operated the last T.A.R.D.I.S. in the universe. It wasn’t even Dorian who left the screaming Time Lords and Daleks locked in the Time War.

It was his father. And Dorian was seeing everything through his eyes.

 

There was a shockwave that reverberated through time and space. Dorian’s father fell forward on the T.A.R.D.I.S. console.

As his head hit the floor Dorian jerked awake with a cry, covered in sweat, lying in his bed in his London flat.

 

Dorian scrambled from his bed as though to run away from his recurring nightmare and pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window. He stood there for a while, trying to get the images of what he had seen out of his mind.

He’d had the same nightmare for as long as he could remember.

From the window of his flat, Dorian looked down at the March-rain soaked London street. He stared at the drenched humans, battling their way to work in the early morning with umbrellas pointed into the wind like shields. Humans, hurrying on their way, their minds always on their fleeting futures. It amazed Dorian how so many people could waste so many opportunities to actually live.

Dorian was so different from those people outside. Aside from his peculiar nightmares, there was also the fact that he was nearly 250 years old, and not to mention that he was only half-human.

 

Dorian Alexander Poisson had been born in Versailles, 1759, to Jeanne-Antoinette ‘Rienette’ Poisson – later known as the Madame du Pompadour. He had never known his father, he only knew the little things his mother had told him when he was a mere toddler. She had died when he was six.

His father was a Time-Lord from the planet Gallifrey.

People called him The Doctor.

 

After his mother had died, the King of France, one of the few people who actually knew of his birth, provided a house for him and his mother’s most loyal servants. He was raised and educated there, becoming a talented singer, actor and a very gifted academic. That was until he was conscripted into the French army and sent across to America to help the French settlers in the American Revolution.

He was there for one week before he was shot.

It was as much of a surprise for him as it was for the rest of his company when he suddenly gasped for breath as they were about to close the lid on his coffin.

He hadn’t aged since that day.

 

But that had been three centuries ago. It was now the fifth year of the new millennium and Dorian had moved back to London after a good few years of travelling.

That was his way; moving from place to place before people started to wonder why he didn’t age, before people wondered why he still looked 21 when they had known him for years.

 

Dorian ran his hands across his face to wipe away the memory of the nightmare, raking his fingers through his thick blond hair. He was very good looking, or so he had been told many times, with a youthful face and sparkling blue eyes that wouldn’t have been out of place on a Hollywood actor. But that was only on the surface. Once you got to know him you saw the depths of his eyes, the sadness and the age.

 

‘You okay D?’ asked Dorian’s Irish flat-mate, Ronan, poking his head around the door of the room. Ronan’s auburn hair was ruffled untidily; Dorian’s outcry had obviously woken him up.

Dorian nodded. Ronan was one of the few people on Earth who knew his secret. He knew how the nightmare affected Dorian and let him have his space.

Dorian shook his head free of thoughts and began his day.

 

 


	2. The Time-Meddler

‘Excuse me; have you got this in a medium?’ Dorian asked the Henriks Department Store assistant, holding up a large navy blue jumper.

‘I’ll go check for you.’ The blonde assistant replied. She had full lips and hooped earrings, she looked fed up and tired. Dorian didn’t blame her; it must have been a long day.

‘Thank you,’ he checked the name tag on pinned to her pink hooded top, ‘Rose.’

Dorian continued browsing while he waited for Rose to return from the store room.

‘Here you go,’ Rose said holding out a smaller jumper to him.

‘Thank you,’ Dorian said again, taking the jumper from her with a smile.

‘Have a nice day, sir.’ Rose returned his smile with a twitch of her lips before walking off to help another customer.

 

Later, Dorian met up with Ronan and two other friends. Gerard, Jo and Ronan were fellow second year students at Medical School. Dorian had always been brilliant at science, his best subject being Physics, but there was always a need for a doctor and it was an ever-changing profession. So Dorian had trained and practised as a doctor for at least a hundred years, in various conditions and places.

He also found it appropriate that he was a doctor son of the Doctor.

Between stopping at cafes for drinks they spent the entire day shopping. Jo needed a new dress so they headed back to Henriks.

‘Don’t be too long sirs, madam.’ The uniformed security guard on the door said, ‘Store’s closin’ in an hour.’

Dorian spotted Rose again as the three men waited outside the changing rooms for Jo to model her selection of dresses. She saw him looking and gave him a quick smile.

‘Got an admirer there D,’ Gerard winked. Dorian opened his mouth to object but Gerard's attention was redirected by Jo emerging from behind a curtain in a flowing elegant dress.

 

It was getting dark outside when Dorian and Ronan bid goodbye to Gerard and Jo outside Henrik’s. The security guard on the door bade them ‘goodnight’ as they left.

Dorian buttoned up his jacket and lifted the collar up against the cold. He and Ronan set off on the walk back to the flat, promptly walking into a big eared, big nosed man in a leather jacket.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Dorian apologised immediately, rubbing his arm. It felt a bit odd, like it had pins and needles.

‘It’s alright!’ said the stranger brightly, Dorian detected a northern accent. ‘You be on your way, back to your home like it’s just another normal day! Tell you what, go mad, have a cup of tea! Tea’s great!’

Dorian exchanged a look with Ronan. ‘Right. Well, um, sorry again.’

‘Best to stay away from here tonight, things might get a bit hot!’ The stranger called cheerfully after the two flat-mates as they walked away. Dorian wondered if the man was crazy.

 

***

 

‘Have you seen the news?’ Ronan asked as Dorian brought their tea – Indian takeaway – into the living room.

‘The whole of Central London has been closed off as Police investigate the fire…’

Dorian read the headline scrolling across the bottom of the TV screen: DEPARTMENT STORE BLAZE: Henriks dept store ripped apart by explosion. The picture changed to footage of a dozen fire fighters trying to put out the fire on the Department Store roof.

Dorian settled himself down on the sofa as the newsreader announced what the early reports indicate caused the blast. He couldn’t help recalling what the strange man outside Henriks had warned. ‘Things might get a bit hot.’ Could the man have known? Dorian wondered. Could he have caused it? They ate their food and watched the news in a concerned silence.

Gerard rang not long after, asking if they had seen the story on TV.

‘I saw it on the news at half-time. It was only a matter of timing, you know? I mean, it could have happened while we were there!’ Gerard cried down the phone. Dorian tried to calm him down. Apparently Gerard’s mum’s friend Bev knew someone whose daughter worked at Henriks and they were talking about what set off the explosion. It was like one big gossip network.

Dorian listened patiently as Gerard reeled off what they suggested could have been the cause, each as unlikely as the next.

‘Sorry Ger, I’ve got to go now. It’s getting late and we’ve got that early lecture tomorrow morning. I’ll see you tomorrow!’ Dorian let out a deep sigh when he hung up. For the rest of the evening Ronan and Dorian discussed the explosion.

In his bed that night Dorian’s mind raced with thoughts that he couldn’t shut off.

Before he knew it he was back inside the T.A.R.D.I.S. running from the Time War, waking up in his bed, covered in sweat.

 

***

 

‘That was a lovely meal, thank you.’ Dorian couldn’t help smiling at fellow med student Martha Jones as he helped her into her coat before they left the plush restaurant. She was one of the nicest people in his lecture class and he’d asked her out to dinner after the lecture that morning.

‘It was my pleasure,’ he smiled, and he meant it. It wasn’t often that he had company that was as good a conversation as Martha had been. ‘Can I walk you home?’ he asked.

He was sure that her dark skin blushed as she stole a quick glance at him. ‘Yes, I suppose you can.’

They thanked the waiter on their way out of the restaurant, passing a couple sitting at the next table. Dorian recognised Rose from Henriks and a man who looked to be her boyfriend. Dorian did a double take: the man’s dark skin was very shiny, as though it was made of plastic.

‘So which way is home?’ Dorian asked Martha. ‘Oh, sorry!’ A man walked right into Dorian’s shoulder. ‘Hold on, you’re the guy who walked into me yesterday outside Henriks before it exploded!’

‘So I was! Did you have a nice cup of tea?’ The man flashed a big grin, completely ignoring Dorian’s reproachful tone of voice and accusing finger. ‘Well, best be off!’

With a nod of the head and another wide grin, the big-eared man walked into the restaurant Dorian and Martha had just left. He picked up a champagne bottle from a waiter’s tray as he walked right up to a table, hidden by another waiter taking orders.

‘That was a bit weird,’ Martha ventured after a moment of stunned silence.

‘Yeah, that it was.’ Dorian shook his head free of thoughts, ‘sorry, so where’s home?’ he asked again.

‘This way,’ Martha smiled, holding out her hand for Dorian to take.

Dorian took her hand, noticing that his shoulder was tingling again where the man had walked into him. He shook off the feeling and focused on walking Martha home on that lovely evening.

But before they could even make it all the way across the plaza from the restaurant they were forced to stop.

‘What’s that?’

A shrill siren pierced the calm night air. Even from where they were standing they could hear the fire-alarm loud and clear.

‘We should go back and see if anyone needs help.’ Martha tugged on Dorian’s hand. It wasn’t a question. Dorian nearly grinned despite the situation. That’s the human spirit, trying to save anyone and everyone.

 

‘Excuse me,’ he stopped a hysterical middle-aged couple fleeing from the restaurant. ‘What happened?’

‘Oh it was terrible!’ Shrieked the woman, her mousy bob quivering. ‘This man came in and shot a champagne cork into another man’s head! It went into his head like jelly then he spat the cork out! And then, and then, the second man smashed the table! The poor girl with him, she must have been so frightened! And then, the first man ripped the second man’s head off!’

‘What?’ Chorused Dorian and Martha, staring incredulously at the woman, barely understanding what she was saying. The woman’s husband nodded earnestly to back up his wife.

‘But he still kept going, even without a head! It was like he had just popped the head off a doll! The girl hit the alarm and we ran!’

‘Are you sure?’ Dorian tried to calm the woman but she kept repeating the same story.

 

Together, Dorian and Martha ran back across the plaza to check whether anyone had been hurt, and whether anyone could tell them a more realistic version of what had happened. Dorian had seen enough weird and fantastic things over his life that he found the woman’s story quite plausible, but Martha was insisting she and her husband must have been in shock.

‘What happened?’ They asked a pale and nervous looking waiter standing outside the closed doors of the restaurant. One of the glass window panels had been smashed.

‘Nothing to worry about, sir, madam. A man started a fight with one of our guests. Nothing to worry about.’

‘Is anyone hurt?’ Martha asked while Dorian tried to push past the stubborn waiter.

‘No, no one madam.’ The waiter gulped anxiously, blocking Dorian’s way. ‘Enjoy your evening.’

 

‘Do you think the guy that walked into you started the fight?’ Martha asked Dorian as they resumed their walk back to Martha’s home.

‘It’s likely. I saw him yesterday before the Henrik’s fire. But let’s talk about something else, yeah?’ Dorian reached out to take her hand again and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘It’s such a nice evening, once you ignore the sirens.’

They shared a giggle as they headed in the direction of the Arcade Shopping Centre.

Thoughts nagged at the back of Dorian’s mind. First outside Henriks, then outside the restaurant. Why did this man show up right before something bad happened?

 

***

 

‘What the–!’

‘Did that dummy just move?’

Dorian and Martha stared in amazement as the shop window dummy dressed in men’s evening wear moved its arms like it was doing the robot.

They could hear the awed murmurs of fellow stunned shoppers near them. The hairs on the back of Dorian’s neck prickled. Someone suggested it was a student prank, but Dorian’s instincts told him it was not so.

‘We need to get out of here, get everyone out of here, away from the dummies.’

‘What? Why?’

‘They’re dangerous; I’ve seen it before, a long time ago. Please Martha, just do as I say.’

His expression made Martha take him seriously. His blue eyes had taken on a steely glint.

‘Okay.’

 

The first people they tried to usher away from the shop window didn’t listen. At least, they didn’t listen until the first dummy smashed its way out of the shop.

A woman stared in confusion on the downward escalator as three child-size dummies marched stiffly out of the Toy Shop. A father babbled about aliens as a suited dummy turned to face him.

‘NO!’ Dorian cried out, running for the dummy. No one took any notice of him until that same dummy shot the father in the face.

Then the screams began.

 

Martha shouted for people to follow her to the exit as dummies smashed their way through the coffee shop. Dorian rugby tackled the dummy that shot the man before it could turn on the man’s wife or children who were screaming their heads off in panic.

‘Go! You need to leave!’ He yelled at them, straining to keep the plastic man on the floor as it insisted on shooting the ceiling to get him off. Shattered glass pierced the skin on Dorian’s back and arms as he wrestled with the stiff dummy. He didn't care; the scratches would heal soon enough.

Smartly dressed shop-window dummies shot blue lasers left, right and centre.

 

‘Come on!’ A small crowd had gathered by Martha as she tried to find a safe place for them to hide. Dorian wrenched the arm off the plastic torso while it was still shooting and aimed it at its own head. The dummy stopped struggling once it had a melted acrid-smelling hole in its forehead.

‘Where now?’ Martha called to Dorian, gesturing to the group of frightened men, women and children around her.

Dorian looked around anxiously, running through options in his head. ‘The Post Office! There are no dummies in the Post Office!’

 

With their scared charges in the relative safety of the Post Office store room, Dorian and Martha tried to find others to get to safety.

Dorian ushered in a frightened woman and her son. Martha called out to a woman outside who was cornered against a flaming red London bus by three plastic brides. The woman was too scared to move as the dummies advanced, she didn’t even hear Martha shouting to her.

Time seemed to slow down as Martha watched the three dummies, one by one, open their hands to expose a gun-like weapon. The woman covered her head in what were surely her last moments. Martha steeled herself, tensing up like a spring, ready to sprint and attempt to take the brides down. She was about to run but another faceless dummy stopped right in front of her. Hand poised to shoot.

Martha gasped in shock. She didn’t know what to do. What could she do?

Martha Jones took a deep breath and looked into the dummy’s sightless plastic eyes.

And then…

It collapsed.

 

Martha’s knees gave way as she stared at the jerking plastic dummy on the floor in front of her. Dorian caught her before she hit the floor.

‘Woah, are you okay?’ Martha shook her head, still staring. ‘Hey, come here, it’s okay. It’s over now.’ Dorian hugged Martha tight for a few minutes. She sobbed into the shoulder of his jacket.

‘I thought I was going to die.’ She told him. He brushed a loose strand of her thick dark hair back from her face.

‘I know, I know. But you didn’t, you’re still alive.’

 

‘Excuse me,’ someone tapped Dorian on the arm. He released a much calmer Martha and turned to face a teary blonde woman with two young children that stared blankly at the mess on the Arcade floor. ‘Thank you so much for saving me and my children.’

Before he could do or say anything the woman swept Dorian into a thankful hug. He tried to object, saying that he just helped them hide, but the woman was hearing none of it.

‘Oh and you too!’ The woman cried as Martha was swept into a similar embrace.

 

More than an hour later the Police let Dorian and Martha leave after taking statements and witness accounts. The Policemen didn’t know what to make of their stories about plastic window dummies coming to life and killing people.

‘Still want to walk me home?’ Martha asked. Dorian thought she looked drained.

‘Of course,’ he smirked, ‘I couldn’t let a lady walk the streets of London at midnight after being attacked by shop window dummies now, could I?’ He offered her his arm and led her away from the rubble of the Arcade.

Not again. Dorian thought to himself. Not again.


	3. Terror of the Autons

Dorian walked Martha to the door of her family’s semi-detached home and rather nervously hovered by the doorway. The lights were still on in the house and dulled voices could be heard from behind the door.

‘Well, um, goodnight.’ Dorian said, standing rather closer to Martha on the doorstep than he had intended.

‘Goodnight,’ she smiled.

Dorian always felt extremely uncomfortable in these faintly romantic situations. He was confident enough talking, but anything more intense and he was lost. It seemed that two hundred and forty years were still not enough for him to be confident on first dates. But he knew that Martha was expecting him to do something.

Dorian took a deep breath and swallowed, stepping forward and giving Martha a light kiss on the cheek, just as the front door opened behind her.

‘Martha! There you- oh, um,’ A young woman who looked a lot like Martha stood in the open doorway, eyes wide and mouth open. Dorian stepped back quickly.

‘Tish!’ Martha hissed, spinning around.

‘Sorry!’ Tish apologised, still staring at Dorian, ‘Mum thought she saw someone at the door and told me to check it.’

Martha turned back to Dorian, ‘I am so sorry about this. This is so embarrassing. Uh, I’ll see you tomorrow?’

‘Yeah, clinical skills right?’ Dorian recovered, retreating down the front path. He didn’t do well with families either.

‘Martha!’ Another woman’s voice joined the conversation. ‘Where are your manners? Why don’t you invite this lovely man in?’

‘No, no, it’s okay,’ Both Martha and Dorian insisted.

‘I was just leaving,’ Dorian told the woman, who he guessed was Martha’s mother.

‘Yeah, we’ve got a class early tomorrow morning,’

‘Nonsense,’ Martha’s mother waved their excuses away, ‘Come in, both of you, we’re just in the living room.’

‘Sorry,’ Martha mouthed to Dorian as they both went in the house.

‘It’s okay,’ Dorian reassured her, ‘mothers usually like me,’

‘I can see why,’ smirked Martha’s sister.

‘Tish!’

‘Okay, okay, I’m going!’ Tish rolled her eyes and went into the living room. Dorian was ushered into the room after her by Martha’s mother.

‘I’m Francine, Martha’s mother,’ she said, by way of introduction.

‘Dorian, Dorian Smith,’ Dorian got the feeling he was being judged.

'What an unusual name.' Francine commented.

'It's French,' Dorian supplied.

‘Dorian’s a second year with me, Mum,’ Martha told her mother when she joined them in the living room. ‘No Leo tonight?’

‘He’s over Shonara’s,’ Tish explained. Dorian was shown a seat on the sofa by Francine.

‘So Dorian,’ Francine continued, ignoring Martha’s attempt to change the subject. ‘What aspect of medicine do you want to specialise in?’

 

Yet another hour later Dorian was released from questioning.

‘I cannot apologise enough for that,’ Martha sighed as she showed Dorian to the front door.

‘It was about as interesting and awkward as a first date can get, but I’ll get over it,’

‘First date? So do you think there'll be a second, without the awkward family introduction?’

Dorian realised he’d walked right into that one. ‘I could see it happening, without the attack of the dummies as well,’ he smiled nervously.

That answer seemed good enough to Martha because she blushed furiously in the lamp-light.

‘I’d better be going,’ he told her, giving her another peck on the cheek that was infinitely surer than the first.

 

***

 

‘Good night?’ Ronan asked when Dorian arrived back in the flat.

‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ he replied teasingly.

‘Not really,’ Ronan shrugged, ‘But I would like to know what those plastic dummies were. Got any ideas?’ Dorian threw himself down on the sofa. He’d had time to think on the walk back from Martha’s.

‘They're called Autons. I saw them before in the 70’s,’ He told Ronan about that time when the Autons were kidnapping and duplicating people, attempting to infiltrate the government. ‘I was working with UNIT at the time, trying to find out who and what the Autons were and why they were doing what they were doing. I took myself off the case because my father, the Doctor, got involved. Of course, I couldn’t meet him at the time because he hadn’t met my mother, messy timelines and all that. Dr. Elizabeth Shaw, a new recruit, took my place.’

Dorian spoke for quite some time, explaining how the Doctor with UNIT’s help eventually stopped the Autons. Ronan was fascinated. Having known Dorian for a while now he had accepted that aliens existed, and it was amazing to learn about them.

‘Dorian,’ Ronan wondered aloud, ‘do you think you could tell me more about your life? When we’ve got time of course?’

‘Sure, but it’ll take a while,’ Dorian smiled, ‘there’s over 200 years to cover.’ Dorian laughed out loud at the look of surprise on Ronan’s face.

‘How about we start tomorrow?’

 

‘I was born in 1759 in the Palace of Versailles.’ Dorian told Ronan, as they sat on the sofa with tea and biscuits, it was a Saturday and neither had any plans until that evening. ‘My mother was nicknamed Rienette, but her title was Madame du Pompadour.’

‘Oh! We learned about her in history!’ Ronan exclaimed, ‘I didn’t know she had a son though.’

‘My existence was kept hidden while I was living in the Palace.’ Dorian explained, ‘so I was brought up by my mother and her servants. I’ve never met my father; he doesn’t even know I exist. Then as the years went by my mother became sick, until eventually she died. I was five years old at the time. I think I saw my father once back then, on the day of the funeral. The King was sending me away from Versailles to live with my mother’s most loyal servants. The coach I was in followed the funeral coach, and as I looked back I saw him in one of the windows; a tall, thin man in what I now know as a twenty-first century suit, watching the procession leave the Palace. I’m not even sure whether that memory is real, or if I made it up.

‘After that I lived in Paris, where everyone was too busy to ask questions about where I came from. I learnt how to read, write and dance, how to behave in French Society, to play music and paint, to do all the things that were needed of me to be a proper French Gentleman. I wore the finest clothes, how could I not, with the King of France as my benefactor?’ Dorian sighed and took a gulp of tea. ‘Then when I was fifteen, the King died. He left me a great sum of money which I saved. I decided that I was fed up of the idle life of the aristocracy and instead went to the University to learn science.

‘The next year was the outbreak of the American Revolution; I was too young to be conscripted at the time. But when I was old enough they put me into Officer Class because I had money. I was put in charge of a unit where the average age was nearly twice my own. It took years for me to earn their respect and trust, then in 1780, some weeks after my twenty-first birthday, we were sent on a mission to Newport, Rhode Island. We were meant to assist reinforcing the colonists, and we did. During that time, I was shot and I died.’

Ronan’s jaw dropped, ‘You died? Like when we met? You’ve died more than once?’

Dorian continued, waving Ronan’s questions away. ‘The next thing I remember was the terrified faces of my comrades staring down at me; I was in a coffin and they were about to put the lid on. I hauled myself out of the coffin, no one was helping me – they were all running away from me calling me cursed and a demon. Then I remembered something, it was strange, because I never knew it before. I remembered something called regeneration; a survival process that Time-Lords go through when they are mortally wounded. It usually changes your appearance, but I’ve stayed the same ever since that day, never ageing, just frozen in time. That was when I first started having the nightmare and all these weird half-memory flashbacks.’

‘Well that explains why you don’t like America,’ chuckled Ronan. His tea sat cold on the table. ‘So what did you do then?’

‘I found myself a ship and got the hell away from America. Back in France I resumed my studies, having earned myself an honourable discharge from the Army by skimming over some of the details.

‘Nine years later, I had completed my studies. Then the French Revolution began. The masses stormed the Bastille and I fled the country of my birth. I paid my way over to Britain, where they were very accepting of those fleeing the chaos of the Revolution, especially if they had either money or skills – I had both. I settled in London and set about making a living. I picked up English easily as I had been taught it from a young age, and before long I was a researcher.

‘The Revolution lasted ten years and almost spilled over the Channel to Britain, but luckily they didn’t get as far as executing the King of England, only the King of France.’

 

The two flat mates talked all day – Dorian narrating, Ronan asking questions every now and then. Dorian told Ronan of Napoleon’s rise to power and how he had to leave London when people started asking questions about why he hadn’t aged. He spoke of settling down in Birmingham and having to talk his way out of fighting in the Napoleonic Wars, refusing to fight against his home country. He spoke about it all without a break, until his voice went hoarse or he ran out of tea – whichever came first.

Finally, it was time to get ready to go to the cinema with Martha, Gerard, Jo, and Ronan’s girlfriend Alex. It was a few weeks before they found time to talk again.

 

***

 

‘Hey, Ronan,’ Dorian yawned, as he made himself breakfast. ‘I’ve had an idea about me telling you my life’s story.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Ronan asked as he cracked an egg on the saucepan.

‘I’m not sure if it’ll work,’ Dorian said, pouring milk on his cereal, ‘but it’s basically where I show you a memory directly from my mind.’

Ronan looked quickly up from frying his egg to give Dorian a quizzical look. ‘You can do that?’

‘I think so,’ Dorian nodded, closing the fridge door. ‘But it’ll only be certain memories.’

‘Let’s give it a go,’ Ronan grinned, ‘just let me have me eggs first.’

 

A little while later they were sat on the sofa ready to try out Dorian’s idea.

‘You ready for this?’ Dorian asked, his palms outstretched on either side of Ronan’s head. ‘I’m not even sure it’ll work.’

‘Trying out super weird alien powers?’ Ronan shrugged, ‘we might as well give it a shot.’

Dorian conceded a smirk and placed the tips of his index and middle fingers on either side of Ronan’s forehead.

‘Close your eyes,’ he ordered. Ronan obeyed and Dorian tried to channel a stream of memories into Ronan’s mind.

There was a flash of in both of their minds and suddenly they were both seeing the same scene: a frosty street in Victorian Cardiff.


	4. The Unquiet Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian takes Ronan back in his memory to Cardiff, on Christmas Eve 1869.

**Cardiff, December 24th, 1869**

Dorian stood in the doorway of the small town house he shared with five other workers, looking down the snow covered Cardiff street. Light snowflakes settled in his blond hair. He was due to start his shift at the butcher’s in thirty minutes but he was once again woken early by the same nightmare.

 

‘Alright Smith?’ Jimmy Jones, the local mail carrier, called to him. Dorian hopped down the steps of the house and met Jimmy on the street.

‘Aye, not too bad. Yourself?’ Over the eighty-odd years he’d lived in Britain Dorian had become quite good at affecting accents and dialects, so he slipped into the Welsh inflection quite easily.

‘Been up since four gettin’ the backlog outta the way for Christmas, y’know? You ‘eard the news yet? Old Mrs Peace ‘as snuffed it! I went by the old Redpath ‘ouse and there they were, loadin’ ‘er into the back o’ the ‘earse!’

‘Old age was it?’ Dorian asked, Mrs Peace must have been seventy at least.

‘Aye, that’s what they reckon. Though between you an’ me, I wouldn’t be surprised if young Master Redpath ‘ad summin’ to do with it. She had a tidy bit in ‘er will, see?’ He nodded conspiratorially at Dorian. ‘Well, that’s enough from me, I’ll let you get on yer way. I still got a few more bags to deliver.’ With a wave of some letters Jimmy carried on down the street on his rounds. Dorian set off on the walk to the butcher’s shop shortly after.

 

Working at the butcher’s was alright enough, Dorian thought as he loaded rounds of sausages and bacon and turkey carcasses onto the cart. The pay was fair and if he put in a good days work, the boss would give him a bit of meat for tea. The guys at home loved that, even though it was only a tiny cutting. They were a mish-mash of workers who had somehow ended up together to pay the land-lord’s rent. There were two stable-boys, a blacksmith’s hand, a baker boy and Dorian.

As it was Christmas Eve Dorian’s main job for the day was doing the rounds delivering meat to customers for their Christmas dinner the following day.

 

Dorian was carefully driving the horse and cart up the snow frosted road to drop off some dried meat for Mr Sneed, the funeral director of Sneed & Co., when he saw the very person he’d been hoping to see: Gwyneth, Mr Sneed’s servant girl.

‘Gwyneth! Hey hold up!’ Dorian ushered the horse further on and hopped down from the cart, securing the reins on a post. Gwyneth was anxiously patting down her black and white servant’s uniform when Dorian ran up to meet her.

‘Hello,’ he smiled, suddenly feeling very nervous.

‘Hello Mr. Smith,’ he could see a faint red blush creeping up her neck. Dorian had told her numerous times that she could call him Dorian, but she never did. ‘Mr Sneed’s in the ‘ouse, would you like me to get ‘im for you?’ Some loose strands of dark hair that had gotten free of her bun fluttered in the winter wind. Dorian noticed that she never looked up at him, despite her lovely large brown eyes; she always looked at the ground, avoiding eye-contact.

‘No, actually Gwyneth it’s you I want to talk to,’ he almost laughed out loud as her eyes widened and took a quick glance up at his face. ‘I was wonderin’ if you were busy tonight.’

Dorian panicked that she might faint, she looked so overwhelmed.

‘Uh, it’s just that, I thought you might like to see Mr Dickens with me at the Taliesin Lodge.’ Dorian coughed awkwardly as he waited for a reply.

‘Gwyneth!’ Mr Sneed’s loud gruff voice echoed through the building. He burst out of the front door and rounded on Dorian and Gwyneth. ‘Where ‘ave you been girl? You’re late.’

Gwyneth mumbled an apology and told her master that she’d get to work right away. She gave Dorian a weak smile as she headed into the house.

‘And you boy, hurry up and unload the meat, we’ve got a funeral this afternoon.’

‘Yes sir, sorry sir. I was just wondering whether you could spare Gwyneth for tonight, sir, I’d like to take her to see Mr Dickens at the Lodge, sir.’

‘I don’t think so boy. Now get on with your work.’

‘Yes sir.’ Dorian went to unload Sneed’s meat from the cart, trying not to show the disappointment he felt. It seemed that he would be going alone to see Charles Dickens that night.

 

***

 

Dressed in somewhat smarter clothes than his usual working dress, Dorian headed through the snowy night to the Taliesin Lodge for an evening of entertainment from Mr Charles Dickens. None of his housemates had wanted to come, they weren’t too keen on Dickens they said, but they did acknowledge that it was a great way to get the ladies to think they were “smart an’ sophisticated types o’ blokes”. Dorian had tried very hard to suppress a grin.

He passed the back of Sneed & Co. on his way to the theatre and spotted Gwyneth breaking the ice in the stables where the funeral parlour’s one horse, Samson, stood whinnying at the cold. He walked on quickly before she saw him looking.

He joined the line of people making their way into the theatre, dropping a donation of a few coins into a box for the Children’s Hospital. He saw Jimmy the mail carrier and his fiancée taking their seats and gave them a wave as he found his own, winding his way around various ladies’ massive skirts and feathered hats, and past wealthy gentlemen’s canes, until he settled in the middle of the fifth row.

 

Dorian sat spell-bound listening to Charles Dickens read ‘A Christmas Carol’, his disappointment that Gwyneth couldn’t come soon evaporated as he became engrossed in Scrooge’s tale.

‘Now, it is a fact, that there was nothing particular at all, about the knocker on the door of this house,’ all eyes were transfixed on Dickens. He had a way of captivating the crowd’s attention that Dorian had rarely seen before.

‘…Scrooge, having his key in the lock of the door, saw in the knocker,’ The spectators were silent and still, save for a few women gently fanning themselves; the gas lamps that lit the theatre made the room quite warm. ‘…not a knocker, but Marley’s face!’

Shocked gasps and murmurs could be heard all around the room, one woman even emitted a small squeal of surprise.

‘Marley’s face!’ Dickens repeated in a whisper, ‘it looked at Scrooge as Marley used to look.’

A hush fell over the crowd once more, ‘It looked like- oh my lord,’ Dickens went suddenly pale, Dorian smelled gas.

‘It looked like that!’ Dickens pointed into the crowd, everyone in the theatre turned in their seats to see where he was pointing. Doing so himself, Dorian saw a sight that made his blood run cold.

Mrs Peace, who Jimmy had seen being loaded into the back of a hearse that very morning, stared up at Dickens with blank eyes, a blue light glowing about her face. Those who saw her gasped, and those near her backed away as far as they could in their seats.

‘What phantasmagoria is this?’ Dickens demanded, gripping the lectern beside him tight to keep him upright. Mrs Peace stood up, still glowing blue. The crowd seemed to think it was some special effect for the show, but Dorian could tell it was something else entirely.

Then Mrs Peace's face contorted into a scream, but the sound that came from her mouth was more like a wheeze, and a snake of blue light slithered from her mouth and cocooned her body.

The entire theatre erupted in panic. Men and women alike scrambled for the exits, leaping over seats and other spectators in their rush to leave. Dickens tried in vain to keep everyone in their seats, stubbornly maintaining that it was a trick and nothing to worry about.

Dorian tried to force his way towards Mrs Peace, but he might as well have been swimming against a strong rip-tide. He was swept out of the theatre like sand in the sea, finding himself out in the cold Christmas air once more.

Outside the theatre the snow was beginning to fall quite heavily. The mass of people who had been crammed into the Taliesin Lodge were hailing carriages all over the place to take them home, or else trudging hurriedly over the snow covered ground. He noticed that Sneed & Co’s carriage was outside; Old Samson snorted and whinnied at the suddenly noisy street. Dorian considered trying to find where Gwyneth was but then forced the thought from his mind. Priorities. Now wasn’t the time.

Dorian realised that he wasn’t going to get back through the main door, so he barged his way through the few remaining escapees and sprung up the stairs to the stalls. He would find a way down to Mrs Peace from there.

 

Unbelievably, there were still people up in the stalls. Dorian shoved his way through them and looked down to the seats below. The blue light was still there; screaming and flying about. Dorian thought for a moment that it looked like a person. A man was onstage with Mr Dickens dressed like a navvy, Dorian noted, and was asking whether Mrs Peace had said anything.

He couldn’t see Mrs Peace anywhere in the seats, but then he spotted Mr Sneed and Gwyneth leaving the theatre carrying something heavy and immobile between them. A blonde woman in fine clothes chased after them, calling in a strong London accent most out of place with her attire. Dorian considered what to do: stay and try to find out what the blue thing was, or chase after Sneed and find out what happened to Mrs Peace. He stood in the stalls a moment longer and, as he watched, the blue light flew to a gas lamp and vanished.

A moment later Dorian ran from the stalls; the decision had been made for him. They’d take Mrs Peace to the Sneed carriage and Dorian would follow them.

 

Jostling his way through the remaining people still trying to get away from the theatre, Dorian leapt down the stairs three at a time. But as he burst out of the building he was already too late. Sneed’s coach had gone. He ran after it, heading to the funeral parlour, past two men arguing over a cab. He thought one of them looked like Dickens, but stopping to talk wasn’t high on Dorian’s priorities at that moment.

Sprinting down the road, Dorian slipped and fell, sliding across the ground in front of him. He could tell that the skin on his knees had just been grazed, but that would heal momentarily, and as he carefully picked himself back up again he was nearly run down by a coach that swept down the road at speed, someone inside calling loudly:

‘BE SWIFT! THE CHASE IS ON!’  

 

***

 

It was a half an hour walk from the theatre to Sneed’s and with the icy conditions of the road Dorian estimated that it would be about a twenty minute run. He had just started to sprint off again when he was called sharply back by a Policeman. Dorian tried to explain that he had to go, but the Policeman wouldn’t have it. In fact, he threatened to arrest Dorian if he didn’t cooperate. Realising that he couldn’t do anything if he was forced to spend the night in the Police Station, Dorian decided to try and answer the officer’s questions as quickly as he possibly could.

Twenty-five very long minutes later the Policeman was finally finished with Dorian. He ran as fast as he could towards the Sneed place once more and was two streets away when he stopped for breath, panting hard and leaning against a street light.

BANG!

The night sky lit up with flames, flames that came from the direction of the Sneed & Company Funeral Parlour. Dorian sprinted on, hoping against hope that nothing had happened to Gwyneth.

 

It was a testament to how fast he was running that he found it very difficult to breathe by the time he arrived at the back of Sneed & Co. Usually, having two hearts made running easier as he had more oxygen in his blood and going to his muscles. But as Dorian stared up at the flames that licked the windows and walls of the building that he had delivered meat to every Tuesday for the past year and a half, he found himself feeling very human.

Dorian heard the panicked whinnying of a horse and the thumping of hooves against wood. Old Samson was locked in the stable, attempting to kick his way out of the wooden frame that stood dangerously close to the burning house. All that was stopping the stable from catching fire was the damp snow that had been falling all night.

Trying not to inhale any smoke, Dorian opened the stable door and calmed the ageing horse down, leading him away from the blazing building.

 

It was on the corner of the street, as he was leading Old Samson home, that he heard it. A noise Dorian had only ever heard in his dreams. A noise he thought he would never hear in real life. It was the sound of the T.A.R.D.I.S engines.

Dropping Samson’s reins Dorian broke into a run. He was so close.

He rounded the corner and ran straight past a bearded man laughing at the sky. He kept running, past Sneed’s still burning house, until he hit a dead end.

Dorian was so sure he’d heard the sound of the engines coming from right where he stood. He turned on the spot to see if there was anywhere else to go. The sound of the engines had stopped. Then Dorian spotted a square patch of old compacted snow, surrounded by freshly fallen snow. A perfect square. The base of the T.A.R.D.I.S.

Dorian didn’t know how long he stared at that space for, knowing how close he’d been to his father. Eventually, he was nudged out of his daze by a wet muzzle. Samson had followed him. Sighing, Dorian decided to head for home. He would drop Samson off at a stable on the way.

 

Suddenly, Dorian heard choking from behind him. He spun around to find a man on his knees who had appeared out of nowhere. He was dressed in tight black trousers and a white shirt unlike any Dorian had seen. He had dark hair and a young face, and was currently breathing heavily, trying to lift himself off the floor. There was some sort of machine on his wrist flashing all sorts of colours.

Dorian dashed over to help him up. The man grabbed Dorian’s hands gratefully and let Dorian lift him to his feet.

‘Sorry, Vortex Manipulator gave out; dropping out of the Time Vortex really isn’t fun. Where are we? What year is this?’

Dorian was stunned. This guy had an accent like Dorian had never heard, was wearing clothes that were very obviously not of this time, and was talking about the Time Vortex.

‘Cardiff, 1869,’ he heard himself mumble. His brain seemed to have frozen.

Dorian was no longer seeing the snowy streets of 19th century Cardiff, he was seeing a world of metal containers in a dark void, with lights that flickered and buttons that beeped. He was seeing the future, a world of space travel, another half memory of his father’s. He heard a voice with distinctly northern tones saying, ‘It’s like I’ve got a sports car and you’ve got a space hopper.’

The man’s face fell slightly. ‘Oh, well, could have been worse, could have been Swansea!’

When he saw that Dorian wasn’t laughing he coughed awkwardly. ‘And you would have no idea what I was talking about and probably think I’m crazy.’ He turned as if to walk away, Dorian grabbed his arm and held him back. He wasn’t letting this guy go until he had answers.

‘No, I understood what you meant, at least now I do. It was just… unexpected. So that’s your space hopper?’ He gestured to the futuristic strap on the man’s wrist.

‘Space hopp– who are you?’ The man asked, astounded.

‘Dorian Smith,’ He held out his hand to shake.

The man took it with a raise of his eyebrows. ‘Captain Jack Harkness.’

 

***

 

Back at the flat Dorian took his hands away from Ronan’s forehead and lay back, exhausted, on the sofa. Ronan groggily rubbed his eyes.

‘That was intense,’ he yawned, ‘did you find out what happened to Gwyneth in the end?’

‘She died in the fire, Jack told me. The gas creatures were a race called the Gelth who had lost their bodies in the Time War. They had slipped through a crack in time called the Rift and were inhabiting dead bodies to survive. Gwyneth gave her life to stop them,’ Dorian stared at the ceiling, lost in another memory. ‘My father was there too, but Jack wouldn’t tell me who he was.’

‘I’m sorry Dorian, really I am.’ Ronan ignored the fact that he hadn’t understood half of what his friend had just said. ‘It can’t have been easy knowing you were that close.’

‘I think that’s enough sharing for the day, I’m feeling a bit drained now.’

‘Agreed, besides it’s been nearly the whole day! It’s almost evening outside already!’

Dorian was already asleep where he lay.

‘Well I’ll just get myself some food then,’ Ronan muttered, stretching his legs, absently looking around the room. It was then that Ronan really noticed the significance of Dorian’s entire Charles Dickens collection that sat, looking rather worn, on the vast bookshelf in the corner.

 


	5. Tooth and Claw

A few months passed before Dorian and Ronan had a day free to re-try the memory share.

‘Ready?’ Dorian asked, hands either side of Ronan’s head once more.

‘Go for it,’ Ronan closed his eyes and Dorian channelled the memory through to his mind.

 

***

 

_**Torchwood House, Scottish Highlands, 1879** _

Dorian stood in the cobbled courtyard of the tall, stone, Torchwood House on the Scottish Highland moors. He was dressed as a serving hand in worn brown leather boots and woollen breeches, creased grey shirt, and a green neckerchief. In his right hand he held a spade that a few minutes ago he had been using to clear away weeds from the borders of the house ready for the impending royal visit. He and his fellow servants were tensed, ready to fight back against the bald, orange robed monks who had just knocked out the steward.

The monks were spinning towards them with their staffs, yelling; the servants edged forward trying not to look intimidated. Dorian felt his heart pounding. He had his eyes fixed on one of the monks – the one on the far right – but before he could strike, the monk had thrown his staff in the air and was cartwheeling after it, right over Dorian’s head.

A second later the fight was back on, but now the servants were sandwiched and outnumbered between two groups of monks. In less than a minute they were defeated. Dorian’s spade was on the other side of the courtyard, he was flat on his back and his right wrist felt like it was broken.

Once certain that the male servants couldn’t fight back anymore, the monks sprinted through the rest of the house, the screams of the serving girls echoed from the kitchens.

Flora! Dorian thought, trying to get back on his feet. Flora was one of the Lady Isobel’s maids and Dorian had grown quite fond of her in the two years he had been working for the MacLeish family. She was like a younger sister to him, so sweet and innocent. But before Dorian could even lift himself to his knees, a strong hand grabbed him by the back of his jacket and forced him up, pushing him forward towards the house. He looked around as he stumbled and saw other monks doing the same with the others.

 

It was dark in the wine cellar where the monks had chained Lady Isobel and all the servants up, Dorian could barely see his hand in front of his face.

When Lady Isobel and the maids had been thrown into the cold and musty room to join the men, Dorian had had a chance to see who was missing. He wasn’t sure whether to be glad or grieved to spot that Flora was absent. When Dorian pointed that out to Lady Isobel, all she said was ‘let us pray that she escaped and has run to get help for us,’ but the look in her eyes suggested that she didn’t think that was what happened.

The only other person missing was Sir Robert, the master of the house.

‘I wonder what they want with the house,’ said Hal, the horse groom.

‘If it was money, surely they could have asked for it?’ squeaked Molly, one of the kitchen maids.

‘It’s not money,’ Lady Isobel said, checking on the steward who was still unconscious. Dorian had already checked his pulse – strong and steady – he should be waking up soon.

‘Then what is it m’lady?’ Hal mumbled, trying to squeeze his broad hands through the narrow shackles.

‘I do not know, but it has to be something to do with the Queen’s visit.’

The steward groaned and began to wake up, at the same moment there was a loud crash and a flood of light as the monks pulled open the outer cellar doors and descended down the ramp with ropes.

‘What in the name of heaven?’ the steward muttered as he found himself in chains. He looked around and saw Lady Isobel beside him, ‘my lady?’

Before he could ask anything, the monks dragged a large covered crate down into the cellar and placed it directly opposite the prisoners. Lady Isobel looked fearful, as did the other servants. They all knew what was under that canvas, but they didn’t want it to be true. They had all heard the stories of the Brethren of St Catherine’s.

‘What’s in there?’ the steward asked, ‘what is it? What’s under the canvas?’ Father Angelo, the leader of the monks, turned away. ‘Father, answer me,’ the steward demanded. ‘What’s in there?’

Father Angelo turned and looked the steward right in the eyes, ‘May God forgive me,’ he turned and ripped the canvas covering off the crate, which turned out to be a cage.

They stared in silence at the hooded figure in the centre of the cage for a heartbeat, and then they screamed.

 

***

 

They dared not make a sound lest they attract the attention of the beast that sat less than four metres from them. Lucy, one of the maids, sobbed loudly and the creature opened its eyes to reveal pitch black irises. It hissed at her, and when she immediately fell silent, reverted to its original pose.

A few hours previous they had heard the arrival of Queen Victoria’s carriage. The creature had raised a single finger to its lips, showing cracked yellow teeth, and shushed for them to stay quiet. It stopped when the Queen’s party had left the courtyard. And for a while after they heard no sound, nor did they make one.

The creature looked to be human, and if the tales were true, as Dorian believed they were, the body was local. What remained a mystery to Dorian, however, was the consciousness living within the human host. A werewolf. That was the creature of local folklore, a story of a man who becomes a wolf once a month at the full moon.

Dorian looked over to a small gap in the stonework that showed a sliver of sky.

The full moon was rising.

 

There was a clatter from the lock on the cellar door and two monks shoved Flora and a near-naked blonde girl down on the hay covered floor with the rest of them. Lady Isobel gave Flora a hug, or as best as she could while chained up.

‘Don’t make a sound,’ Lady Isobel told them after the monks had gone. ‘They said if we scream or shout then he will slaughter us.’

‘But he’s in a cage,’ the blonde girl replied, she wasn’t local Dorian realised, hearing a London accent and seeing that she was dressed most unusually in a pink top with short blue overalls, he guessed that she didn’t know the local wolf tales. ‘He’s a prisoner. He’s the same as us.’

‘He is nothing like us,’ Lady Isobel insisted, ‘that creature is not mortal.’

As if in reply, the creature slowly raised its head and opened its jet-black eyes. Lady Isobel sobbed with terror.

 

The girl slowly got to her feet and began to step towards the creature.

‘Don’t child,’ Lady Isobel warned, but the girl ignored her and continued to move as close  to the creature as the chains would allow. It tilted its head, intrigued.

‘Who are you?’ she asked, her voice shaking. She was brave, Dorian admitted, already having suspicions that she was a bit more than not local.

‘Don’t enrage him,’ cautioned the steward.

‘Where are you from?’ the girl continued, regardless. ‘You’re not from Earth, what planet are you from?’ Dorian knew then that this girl must be a time-traveller. Maybe she was with the Doctor, Dorian’s father.

The creature spoke in an oddly high pitch, that send chills up Dorian’s spine ‘Oh, intelligence.’

‘Where are you from?’ The girl asked again.

‘This body? Ten miles away. A weakling heart-sick boy, stolen away at night by the Brethren for my… cultivation. I carved out his soul and I sat in his heart.’ Hal, sitting beside Dorian, gasped.

‘Alright, so the body’s human. But what about you, the thing inside?’

‘So far from home,’ the creature sighed.

The girl almost seemed relieved, ‘If you wanna get back home, we can help.’

But the creature looked confused, ‘Why would I leave this place? A world of industry, of workforce and warfare. I could turn it to such purpose.’

‘How would you do that?’

‘I would migrate to the Holy Monarch.’

‘You mean Queen Victoria?’

‘With one bite I would pass into her blood, and then it begins! The Empire of the Wolf!’ The creature paused and stared curiously at the girl, ‘So many questions.’

It moved forward in its cage with lightning speed, the chained servants, Dorian, maids, Lady Isobel and the girl all jumped back with fright. ‘Look! Inside your eyes. You’ve seen it too!’ The creature’s eyes were fixed on the girl.

‘Seen what?’ she asked, scared.

‘The wolf, there is something of the wolf about you!’

‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she replied, shaking under the creature’s gaze.

‘Oh, you burn like the sun, but all I require is the moon,’ it growled.

The moon above the valley was almost at its peak.

 

***

 

Not long after the girl’s confrontation with the werewolf, some monks of the Brethren threw open the outer cellar doors with an almighty clang. The creature pressed its face against the cold metal bars of its cage.

‘Moonlight,’ it sighed, taking off the dark hooded robe it wore.

Wind howled through the cellar, the lamps guttered. Everyone stared at the creature with horror, even Dorian. Only the girl seemed to be doing anything.

‘All of you!’ she called, breaking their terrified gazes, ‘stop looking at it!’ She whirled around and said something to Flora. ‘Get hold of the chains and pull, come on, with me! Pull!’ and so they did.

Molly objected, ‘We can’t, miss! We can’t! The Brethren forbid us!’

Lady Isobel was transfixed with terror.

‘I said pull!’ the girl ordered, ‘stop your whining and listen to me! All of yous! And that means you your Ladyship. Now come on, pull!’

The steward helped Lady Isobel to her feet.

Dorian pulled with all of his might, his broken wrist already healed by his Time-Lord DNA.

The creature screamed with pain as its bones broke and its nose elongated into a snout. The girl set up a count, ‘one, two, three, pull!’

The creature growled, canine fangs forcing their way down through its gums. Fur sprouting all over its body and claws extending on each paw-like hand.

The wolf fixed its gaze on the escaping captives just as they pulled the chain from the wall. There was a bang at the door and a moment later two men ran through it: Sir Robert and to Dorian’s surprise – his father. He looked exactly like the man in the portrait his mother had painted, the only image of his father that he had ever seen. From the spiked brown hair, the lines on his face, and the pinstriped brown suit. Dorian was so shocked that he almost fell right back down onto the stone flagged floor.

‘Where the hell have you been?’ the girl shouted at the Doctor, who turned and stared at the wolf which was trying to break free of its cage.

Sir Robert grabbed his wife’s hand and ushered all of the servants out. ‘Get out! All of you! Come on! Out!’

The Doctor joined in and helped them out of the cellar. The wolf had just broken free of its cage when the Doctor slammed the door behind him and locked it with his sonic screwdriver. Dorian ran after the other servants, still chained between Hal and the steward.

Behind them the wolf howled.

 

Upstairs on the ground floor of the house the steward was issuing firearms.

‘Guns!’ he called as he handed each man a double barrelled shotgun. ‘Lady Isobel, take the girls, get them out through the kitchen. Jackson, at arms!’ he ordered.

Lady Isobel kissed her husband and called the serving girls to follow her. The Doctor went around sonicing all the remaining chains around their hands. Dorian couldn’t take his eyes away from his face when his father removed his chains. But the Doctor didn’t even look at him. He was too busy talking to Rose, the girl. Dorian tried to say something, but thought better of it. What could he say? Nothing he wanted to, unless he wanted to risk ripping the universe apart.

Jack had already told Dorian that he couldn’t reveal himself to his father until sometime in the twenty-first century, and that was still one hundred and twenty-one years away.

 

There was a loud crash followed by the sound of growling as the wolf smashed its way through the locked cellar door. The steward gathered Dorian and all of the other armed men into a line across the corridor. The Doctor came running back with Rose by the hand, the wolf hot on their heels.

‘Fire!’ the steward yelled, ‘Fire!’

They fired.

Fourteen rounds in total were fired at the wolf, some found their mark and the wolf retreated away in the shotgun smoke.

‘Alright you men, we should retreat upstairs. Come with me,’ the Doctor said.

‘I’ll not retreat. The battle’s done,’ replied the steward, ‘there’s no creature on God’s earth that could survive such an assault.’

‘I’m telling you, come upstairs!’ the Doctor yelled at the steward’s back as he marched off check on the wolf.

‘And I’m telling you, sir,’ the steward yelled back. ‘I will sleep well tonight with that thing’s hide upon my wall.’  

They waited in silence for the steward’s assessment of the wolf. He paused in front of the door and turned back to face them. ‘Must have crawled away to d-,’

Before he could finish the sentence, a huge, clawed paw grabbed him from above and pulled him up to the rafters. The steward screamed as he was ripped apart by the beast.

‘There’s nothing we can do!’ called Dorian’s father, he and Rose ran for the stairs.

The wolf had finished with the steward and set its ravenous eyes on the rest of the men. Dorian put the gun to his shoulder and his finger on the trigger, backing away. He shot at the wolf as it slashed at Hal, and he shot at the wolf as it tore off Pete’s arm. He reloaded and kept shooting as the beast devoured the men he’d worked with for two years. Then he ran as fast as he could from the beast.

He reached the back door with the beast right behind him; he barged through the door into the open space of the garden. Too late he saw the orange clothed monks, garlanded in mistletoe, armed with shotguns. Too late he heard the first shot, and then felt it as it hit his shoulder and spun him around. Another bullet took him in the leg, and a third in the hip.

Luckily for Dorian the wounds were fatal, so he would regenerate faster. Also luckily, the wolf thought better of getting too close to the monks and left Dorian unharmed on the ground – shot in three places, but otherwise unharmed.

Soon after the wolf’s retreat, the pain became too much and Dorian passed out, letting the regeneration process take care of him.

The orange robed monks silently looked on.

 

 


	6. Aliens of London

When the waning moon slipped back behind the valley slopes and the sun took to the sky, Flora found Dorian in the garden, lying where he had been shot. She ran over to him, crying, and was so shocked and amazed when he opened his eyes that she dropped his head back onto the ground.

Dorian grimaced in pain as she helped him up, telling him all about how the wolf had been allergic to mistletoe and the Doctor and Sir Robert helped to destroy the wolf with the telescope-that-wasn’t-a-telescope in the observatory. Sir Robert had been killed by the wolf, defending the Queen, and the monks had fled when they heard the wolf’s last howl.

Flora and Molly checked Dorian over, convinced that he should have some sort of wound, frequently remarking on how lucky he was to still be alive. Dorian sat quietly through it all.

It seemed that Dorian hadn’t been the only one to suffer wounds from the previous night; the Queen had a bandage on her hand, a splinter from the door she said, but the sideways glances the Doctor kept giving her said otherwise.

 

That morning Dorian stood behind the serving girls in the main room of the house and watched as Queen Victoria dubbed his father ‘Sir Doctor of Tardis’ and Rose ‘Dame Rose of the Powell Estate’.

He was rooted to the same spot, shocked, when the Queen banished them both from the British Empire, never to return.

He remembered seeing that very same Queen’s coronation forty-one years previous, but decided not to mention that to anyone.

Dorian left the room as fast as he could when the audience with the Queen was over but couldn’t find the Doctor or Rose anywhere.

 

***

__

_**Present Day - London, 2006** _

Dorian’s day started off normally. Or as normal as it can be when you’re a 246 year-old half-Time Lord living on Earth and training to be a Doctor in one of the busiest hospitals in London.

He and his fellow third years had attended an anatomy lecture followed a shift shadowing a few doctors. Now Dorian, Ronan, Martha, Gerard and Jo were sitting outside the Starbucks down the road from the hospital, sipping coffee on their lunch break. The sun was shining over central London, they could see Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament on the other side of the Thames.

‘They still haven’t found that missing girl.’ Gerard commented, turning a page in his newspaper and reading an article. A local 19 year-old girl called Rose Tyler had gone missing a year ago and there were still notices in the newspapers and MISSING PERSON posters up all around central London and in the suburbs.

‘I reckon her boyfriend did it.’ Ronan said.

‘But the police questioned him and he wasn’t charged.’ Martha added, taking a sip of Dorian’s coffee. She and Dorian had been going out for almost a year now.

‘I still thi-’

‘Shh!’ Dorian commanded, holding his hand up to silence Ronan. ‘Can you hear that?’

All five of them stopped and listened carefully to the hustle and bustle of the city. Car engines hummed, music blared from nearby shops, and people all around them chatted away happily.

‘What are we meant to be hearing?’ Jo asked.

‘I don’t know what it was, it sounded like a plane.’ Dorian looked confused.

‘There are planes overhead all the time, D.’ Gerard pointed out.

‘No, this one sounded different. I don’t know what it was. I must be imagining thi–’ Just as he said it, a horn blasted and a deafening rumbling sound was heard, getting louder and louder. Conversations stopped as people looked uncertainly up at the sky.

The windows started shaking in their frames and a massive green spaceship soared overhead, losing altitude with every second, smoke billowing from its rear.

‘What the-? D! Where are you going?’ Ronan called after him. But Dorian was already off, running after the ship as it headed closer to the city centre. Abandoning their coffees, his friends grabbed their bags and set off after him.

Up in the sky, the ship looped around Tower Bridge and followed the bend of the River Thames around towards the Houses of Parliament.

 

Red faced and out of breath, Ronan and the others caught up with Dorian as he was trying to get across Westminster Bridge. Steam was rising from the Thames on their left where the spaceship had crashed, but not before it had taken out Big Ben with a deafening clang that was heard for miles around.

Three large khaki Army trucks were already blocking the traffic off the Bridge and soldiers with guns were stopping people from getting past.

They found Dorian arguing with a very tall, very well muscled Sergeant who looked like he could bench press Dorian with his little finger.

‘Come on! I have to get through! Let me through!’ Dorian shouted at the Sergeant.

‘I cannot let you pass, sir. Go home.’ The Sergeant stared down at Dorian with unblinking eyes.

‘Let me through dammit!’ Dorian tried to move forward, but before the Sergeant could restrain him, Ronan grabbed an arm and pulled him back.

‘Excuse my friend, he’s very curious.’ Gerard apologised to the soldier as Ronan dragged the protesting Dorian away.

‘I have to get through!’ Dorian repeated.

‘No. You can’t Dorian, no one can. They’ve got the whole area blocked off!’

‘You know why I have to Ronan.’ Dorian’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘My father might be in there!’

‘You’re not going anywhere near that ship until we know what’s going on.’

‘And how are we meant to find that out?’ Dorian retorted, still trying to get loose.

Ronan pushed Dorian in the direction they’d just come from. ‘We’re going to watch it on TV, just like everyone else.’

 

***

 

Sat down in Dorian and Ronan’s living room, the five friends were all on the phone to different people, with the BBC News showing in the background.

Gerard, Jo, Martha and Ronan were all on the phone to their families – speculating what the spaceship is, where it came from and what’s in it. Dorian, however, was glued to the TV, making a phone call to his old friend Jack Harkness.

When Dorian had met Jack in Cardiff, 1869 Jack revealed that he had time-travelled with the Doctor, had been killed by a Dalek in the future and was brought back to life somehow which now meant that he couldn’t die – like Dorian. Then, using a device called a Vortex Manipulator, Jack had tried to find the T.A.R.D.I.S again but just missed it and ended up meeting Dorian a few moments later.

Jack now ran an organisation called Torchwood Three in Cardiff, that specialised in Alien Technology, but he was also trying to get back to the Doctor to go travelling. Dorian was also a member of Torchwood and was trying to find his father to meet him, so they decided to keep in contact if anything happened. And it was an event exactly like a spaceship crashing into Big Ben that would bring the Doctor running back to Earth.

 

The phone continued to ring. Dorian hoped Jack would pick up. Two more rings, then.

‘Hello, Captain Jack Harkness’ phone, Owen Harper speaking.’ Dorian didn’t recognise the voice, but it was very brisk. Whoever Owen Harper was, he was probably part of Torchwood.

‘Is Jack there? It’s urgent.’

‘Who’s calling?’

‘It’s Dorian. Just tell him Dorian, he’ll know who I am.’

He heard a muffled murmuring then static on the phone.

‘Hey Dorian, I take it you’ve seen the news?’ The cheery American accent was a complete contrast with the brash Owen. Dorian was relieved to hear Jack on the line.

‘Seen it? The ship flew right over me! Do you know what’s going on? I tried getting close but the Army were there almost immediately and wouldn’t let me past. Please tell me you know something at least?’

‘We’re as in the dark as you are at the moment, but the government just sent a message saying the Army divers have found a body. We intercepted it and one of my team is already on the way to London as a pathologist to examine it.’

‘You’ll let me know what they find?’

‘You’ll be the first to know.’

‘Any news on him?’ Dorian didn’t have to spell out who he meant.

‘No, but if this is the time I think it is then it’s before I met him and it’s definitely before he met your mother, so you can’t go and find him Dorian.’

‘I don’t have to meet him, just see him.’

‘You wouldn’t be able to stop yourself Dorian, and who knows what would happen if he knew you were his son.’

‘Fine. I’ll stay here and watch TV like a normal human. Just keep me in the loop what’s going on.’

‘Will do Dorian.’ The line went dead. Sure enough, a few minutes later the News reporter announced that a “body of non-terrestrial origins” had been found in the spaceship. Interest in the room peaked and the phones were hung up, because if there’s one thing more interesting to a group of medical students than the human body, it’s an alien body.

 

***

 

The hours went by and not much new news appeared. One by one Gerard, Jo and Martha all went home. Dorian was still glued to the TV, watching government officials and military personnel arriving at 10 Downing Street. U.N.I.T officials that Dorian knew from his work with them also arrived.

Jack had rang earlier and set up a three-way call with Toshiko Sato, the Torchwood member acting as a pathologist, who revealed that the alien looked like a humanoid pig, which Jack thought was very odd. On further examination, Sato noticed that it looked as if the alien was actually a normal Earth pig’s head sewn on a body. Jack advised her to play dumb if asked about it until they could get Owen, the Torchwood team’s doctor who was currently hung over, down to check it out further.

 

Dorian felt that they were missing something important. He picked up on everything they said in the news and tried to piece it all together, but it just didn’t fit. There was something very wrong.

He had telephoned his friends at U.N.I.T and Torchwood One but they couldn’t tell him any new information until their ‘expert’ had consulted Downing Street. Not even name-dropping the Brigadier had worked.

They then reported that the Prime Minister and his car had gone missing en route from the Houses of Parliament and that Joseph Green, MP for Hartledale and Chairman of the Parliamentary Commission on Monitoring of Sugar Standards, had been announced as Acting Prime Minister.

Something was definitely wrong.

 


	7. World War Three

It was late and Dorian was getting tired when Jack next rang, but the news had Dorian wide awake and on the edge of his seat; the emergency protocol software had triggered an alert that Torchwood picked up. Someone had reported that the Doctor was on Earth. He was being taken to Downing Street immediately.

Resisting the urge to just grab his jacket and find a way into Number 10 himself, damning the consequences of converging timelines, Dorian barely blinked as he waited to see his father on the TV arriving at Downing Street.

 

Ronan was yawning every few minutes but refusing to go to bed until he saw Dorian’s dad. Neither of them expected what they saw.

‘Someone else has just arrived at 10 Downing Street.’ BBC News announced. ‘We don’t know who he is but we are told he’s an alien expert.’ The camera cut from the reporter to an image of a white man with short hair and big ears, dressed in black trousers and a black leather jacket. He was accompanied by a young blonde girl.

‘Oh my god! Ronan!’

‘It’s that man! The one that warned us about Henriks!’

‘He walked into me when I was out with Martha!’

‘That’s the Doctor? That’s your father?’

Dorian was already on the phone. ‘Jack? Is that him?’ The look on Dorian’s face told Ronan that the man was indeed the legendary Doctor. ‘And the girl? That’s the one that’s missing isn’t she? Rose Tyler. I’ve met her before!’

Dorian hung up. His face was very white, memories flooded in quick succession through his mind, those two faces appearing often. Ronan waited for him to say something.

‘I was so close all this time.’ Ronan wasn’t sure what to say. ‘I’ve seen him about five times before, that girl too! How have I not remembered that before? I was so close. I’ve seen him so many times; I’ve got to be able to meet him soon!’

The desolation in his voice and the longing in his eyes were obvious. It tore Ronan up to see his usually bubbly and optimistic best friend, who had literally taken a bullet for him and then laughed about it afterwards, so detached and alien. He had no idea how to help.

‘You couldn’t have known,’ He finally managed lamely. ‘Besides, you couldn’t have done anything about it yet anyway. You told me that. If you met him and told him who you were before he even met your mother then you might just rip a hole in the Universe.’

Dorian looked up and met his eyes. ‘Right now Ronan, I wouldn’t care if I ripped this world in half. I’ve waited two hundred and forty years to meet my father, ever since my mother died. And I have met him, several times in fact. But he hasn’t met me. The only things I really know about him are what she wrote in a letter to me and what I can see in my nightmares and these half-memories that I get. None of his companions that I’ve met can even say anything to him about me for the same reason.

‘I’ve walked this Earth for so long, seen two centuries pass. Waiting. And he doesn’t even know I exist. The one image I have of him is the portrait my mother painted of him, and Jack reckons that’s a later regeneration. So I’m still waiting. He’s just across the Thames, for pity’s sake! Is it that much to ask to just meet my own father? To tell him who I am? For most people it’s just a matter of finding where they live and knocking on a door, where the worst that can happen is the father doesn’t want to know them. For me I could kill every single creature in the Universe, just for telling him too early!

‘I just want him to know who I am, Ronan. I just want him to know me.’

Dorian got up suddenly and went into his room, slamming the door behind him.

 

When Ronan popped in to give him his favourite banana flavoured milkshake in an attempt to cheer him up, he found Dorian staring at the portrait that usually lived under his bed:  a portrait of a tall, thin, messy brown haired man with a wide smile and a gleam in his eye; a portrait of his father, painted by his mother.

Dorian didn’t even look when Ronan left the room again. All that night, Dorian stayed awake, staring at the painting. Wishing and waiting.

Dorian’s milkshake was still untouched when he was suddenly gripped by an electric field, like blue lightning all over his body. Every cell in his being felt as though it was being pulled apart, he cried out in pain as his limbs convulsed and shuddered out of control. He had no idea what was going on, all he knew was pain. Ronan burst into the room but was helpless as to what to do.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it stopped.

 

Dorian was in a large, well-lit, presentation room with red curtains and an ornate fireplace. He was standing in the middle of the room and on either side of him were people in military uniforms, police uniforms and suits all flopped onto the desks in front of them. Dorian knew that they were dead and that the electricity that he had felt ripping through his body just moments ago was what had killed them.

But by far the most unusual thing in the room was the eight foot tall, green skinned alien that was being electrocuted, right next to the new Prime Minister.

Dorian ran out of the room and down a wide corridor. Steaming past a large gilded mirror he briefly glimpsed his reflection: short dark hair, big ears, big nose, leather jacket. He was the Doctor. He was his father. Somehow, he was seeing what his father saw as it happened.

He came to a foyer lined with armed Police.

‘Oi, you want aliens? You’ve got ‘em. They’re inside Downing Street,’ he heard himself say in a Northern accent. He clapped and set off the way he came, a dozen Policemen in tow. It was just like in his recurring nightmare where Dorian has no control over what he is doing – the body he was in was the Doctor’s.

Bursting back into the room where the alien had been they instead found the Army Chief of Staff, General Asquith, in its place.

‘Where’ve you been?’ The Prime Minister demanded. ‘I called for help, I sounded the alarm. There was this,’ he looked to Asquith for help, ‘lightning! This kind of, umm, electricity and they all collapsed!’

The Police Sergeant helpfully told the Prime Minister that the experts were all dead.

The Prime Minister rounded on him with small beady eyes, ‘That’s what I’m saying,’ he turned to point at the Doctor. ‘He did it! That man there!’

All eyes turned towards him, Dorian felt clueless, ‘I think you’ll find the Prime Minister is an alien in disguise.’

No one in the room moved.

‘That was never gonna work was it?’ he asked the nearest Policeman who shook his head. ‘Fair enough.’ And sprinted back out of the room, once more with a dozen Police in tow.

Turning a corner he saw more Police coming the other way. He was trapped. The General shouldered his way forward through the Police and ordered:

‘Under the jurisdiction of the Emergency Protocols, I authorise you to execute this man!’

The sound of rifles and pistols being cocked was heard on either side, sights raised to the Doctor’s body.

 

‘Dorian!’ a voice shouted and he was jerked back to reality. His eyes shot open and he realised he was drenched.

‘What the-?’ he began, and then he saw Ronan standing beside him with a dripping bucket. ‘What did you do that for?’

‘Thank God you’re back D, I was getting worried!’ Ronan dropped the bucket and leaned back against Dorian’s wardrobe looking relieved. ‘I didn’t know what to do, you were being electrocuted or something but there was no electricity near you! Then it stopped and you were like asleep or in a coma, I don’t really know. So I tried everything I could to wake you up, I was just about to call Martha back over if you didn’t wake up with the water.’

Dorian pushed himself up into a sitting position on the edge of his soaking wet bed and tried to process what he’d just witnessed.

‘I was my Father.’

‘What?’

‘While I was out of it I was seeing things through his eyes. I was in Downing Street, I’m sure of it, and there was this huge green alien being zapped by the same blue light I was. Oh my God, he was about to get shot!’ Dorian sprung up from the bed as if to go to the door and immediately dropped back down feeling faint.

Ronan grabbed him before he smacked his head on the foot of the bed and set him down gently. ‘Think about it D, he’d regenerate if he was shot. We know he won’t die because you’ve not been born yet, as weird as that sounds. So there’s nothing you can do, just rest up and get better so you can track him down later. By the sounds of it you’ve just been electrocuted and gone mind-hopping, I think that deserves a cup of tea.’

 

***

 

‘Why is my face stinging?’ Dorian asked as he settled down ten minutes later on the sofa with a strong cup of Earl Grey.

‘Oh, I slapped you a couple of times to try and wake you. It didn’t work.’ Ronan shrugged as he sat down on the other sofa.

Dorian rubbed his cheek. ‘Thanks for that mate.’

‘Any time,’ Ronan switched on the TV.

‘There’s still no word from inside Downing Street though we are getting even more new arrivals,’ the news reporter announced as an RAF Group Captain, a Scottish Politician and the Chairman of the North Sea Boating Club all entered Number 10.

‘Why the hell are they there?’ Ronan wondered.

‘Because they’re aliens.’

‘True, true.’ They both took a sip of tea and watched the coverage.

Dorian grabbed his laptop and flipped the screen open, logging onto the Torchwood Mainframe.

He scrolled through pages and pages of classified alien information but couldn’t find the aliens currently inhabiting Downing Street. He found the same thing on the U.N.I.T. database.

Though while he was searching he found plenty of information on the young woman Rose Tyler.

Dorian read through her file.

 

_Rose Marion TYLER_

_D.o.B: 27/04/1987_

_Parents: Jacqueline Andrea Suzette Tyler (née Prentice) and Peter Alan Tyler (d. 07/11/1987)_

_EXILED FROM THE BRITISH EMPIRE SINCE 1879._

Dorian skimmed over details of her early life and school career until he found…

 

_Known companion of THE DOCTOR since March 2005._

 

Dorian tracked back in his mind. March 2005. That was around the time of the Henriks fire when Dorian had first walked into the Doctor outside the shop. Rose. He glanced up at the old picture on the screen. She was the girl who had served him in Henriks.

Links started to form in Dorian’s mind.

He skipped through sections that he had no connection with.

 

_Recorded sightings of Rose TYLER_

_24/12/1869 – Cardiff. Sources report that gaseous extra-terrestrial beings (THE GELTH) were inhabiting bodies of the deceased. RIFT ACTIVITY SUGGESTED. THE DOCTOR and TYLER associated with author CHARLES DICKENS and were present at the site of a gas explosion (possible causation) which resulted in the death of two people and destroyed a funeral parlour thought to be the origin of GELTH outbreak._

_Unknown date. 1879 – Scotland. THE DOCTOR, using alias Dr. JAMES MCCRIMMON, and TYLER infiltrated the entourage of QUEEN VICTORIA on her annual pilgrimage to BALMORAL CASTLE._

_While at TORCHWOOD HOUSE, owned by the MACLEISH family, THE DOCTOR, TYLER, and QUEEN VICTORIA encountered a LUPINE WAVELENGTH HAEMOVARIFORM (werewolf) which was dispatched by THE DOCTOR using intensified moonlight in a light chamber._

_FOUNDATION OF TORCHWOOD INSTITUTE._

 

Dorian remembered what was possibly his first face-to-face encounter with the Doctor while working as a servant at Torchwood House.

He read on.

 

_20/01/1941 – London. Witnesses report sightings of a young blonde female wearing Union Flag printed futuristic clothing hanging from a barrage balloon in the height of the London Blitz._

There was a very pixelated image from an ancient camera that looked a lot like Rose on screen. It depicted a blonde woman dangling from a rope above London. Dorian raised his eyebrows, that’s one way to get around.

He had been deployed to the continent throughout 1941.

 

_THE DOCTOR and TYLER appeared during the outbreak of an isolated plague (of extra-terrestrial origins) at ALBION HOSPITAL. Later wreckage inspection found scraps of a space-age ambulance (report from TORCHWOOD operative JACK HARKNESS). Evidence was removed to stores for further investigation and research._

_The plague was eradicated due to THE DOCTOR’S involvement and was found to have originated from a young male (JAMES HILL) and mother (NANCY HILL)._

Dorian was stopped in his mental tracks. Nancy Hill was a young girl he’d had a relationship with prior to leaving for the War. He anxiously clicked through to James Hill’s page and was stopped again. The picture of James Hill showed a young man who looked eerily like Dorian. He scanned through the text.

 _No known father…_ _Under surveillance until 1980… No sign of extra-terrestrial effect from encounter with THE DOCTOR…_

Dorian’s mind raced. No known father. He worked out the timeline of his relationship with Nancy and colour drained from his face: there was a distinct possibility that this person was Dorian’s son.

‘You alright D?’ Ronan asked, noting how grey his friend looked.

‘Mhm,’ Dorian mumbled, ‘just reading.’

He switched tabs back to Rose’s page and gave a start when he read his own name.

 

_01/06/1953 – London. TORCHWOOD operative DORIAN SMITH reported sighting of THE DOCTOR and TYLER previous to the coronation of QUEEN ELIZABETH II._

_Fugitive extra-terrestrial energy form which named itself THE WIRE threatened the nation by causing an outbreak of faceless people in the MUSWELL HILL area. Local Police cooperated with TORCHWOOD to track the source of the outbreak and isolate it._

_THE DOCTOR removed the threat of THE WIRE with assistance from young male THOMAS EDWARD CONNOLLY._

Dorian remembered that day. How could he not when there were people without faces appearing all over North London?

Rose’s file stopped shortly after. It seemed that her involvement in Earth’s history avoided her own timeline. But nevertheless, Dorian still had plenty to think about.

 

 


	8. Edge of Destruction

It was early morning and neither Dorian nor Ronan had slept when the door of Number 10 opened once more.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, Nations of the World, Humankind,’ the new Prime Minister began. ‘The greatest experts in extra-terrestrial events came here tonight. They gathered in the common cause. But the news I bring you now is grave indeed: the experts are dead. Murdered, right in front of me by alien hands...’

‘By your hands you great ugly bog monster!’ Dorian spat at the TV.

‘The Prime Minister’s an alien? When did that happen?’

‘Sometime yesterday I guess.’

It was a mark of how weird their lives were that Ronan accepted that fact without dispute.

‘…Our inspectors have searched the sky above our heads,’ Cameras flashed, illuminating the beads of sweat on the Prime Minister’s brow. ‘They have found massive weapons of destruction capable of being deployed within forty-five seconds…’

‘LIAR! There’s nothing there!’

‘D, calm down. We know he’s lying.’

‘…we are facing extinction, unless we strike first. The United Kingdom stands directly beneath the belly of the mother ship. I beg of the United Nations: pass an emergency resolution, give us the access codes. A nuclear strike at the heart of the beast is our only chance of survival. Because from this moment on, it is my solemn duty to inform you, planet Earth is at war.’

 

A stunned silence met this information.

‘Hell. They want a nuclear war,’ Dorian murmured after a while, ‘and the UN’s going to hand it to them on a plate.’

 

***

 

Dawn broke over the city skyline and the news announced that the Nuclear Access codes would be released.

Dorian had been on the phone talking to Torchwood and U.N.I.T on and off, getting information from Jack and fruitlessly telling U.N.I.T that they can’t allow the UN to release the codes. After hearing the news Dorian got back on the phone to U.N.I.T. insisting that they listen to him and change their minds.

He was just demanding that the cocky Private on the phone put him through to General Lethbridge-Stewart when he got an incoming call from Jack.

‘There’s a missile heading for Downing Street, stay away from it. The Doctor will survive it.’ It was unlike Jack to be so blunt; Dorian knew he wasn’t kidding.

Dorian stuck his head out the window and sure enough, there was a small strip of red across the sky, moving steadily closer. He called to Ronan, and they stared in disbelief as the strip of red light became a fully fledged Harpoon missile smashing into the distance, destroying one of London’s most famous and historic landmarks.

 

***

 

Two weeks later Dorian was sat in a Cardiff Bay pub with Jack, Toshiko and Owen from Torchwood Three. Jack and Dorian were reminiscing over their old Torchwood days.

‘Remember those two women you used to work for? Absolutely mental!’ Dorian said.

‘Ah yes,’ Jack grimaced at the memory, ‘Alice Guppy and Emily Holroyd. They were intense, I’ll tell you that.’

‘There were two like that in Torchwood One when I joined. It was all fine until they realised that I couldn’t die – my own fault for diving in front of a bullet I guess, I seem to make a habit of it.’ Dorian shrugged, ‘the curse of a… I don’t even know what we’d call ourselves!’ They both laughed at that, the rest of the team looked puzzled and quietly sipped their drinks.

‘So how do you two know each other?’ asked Toshiko, the Torchwood techie, ‘from Torchwood?’

‘You could say that,’ Jack smiled ambiguously. ‘You know the Doctor I’m always talking about? Well this is his son.’ Jack waved his hand towards Dorian. The team raised their eyebrows at him.

‘But I thought the Doctor was an alien?’ objected Torchwood’s medical man, Owen.

‘He is,’ said Dorian, ‘so I guess I’m half an alien.’

‘Freaky,’ muttered Owen.

‘Amazing,’ muttered Tosh, her eyes wide.

‘You know, it’s actually down to Dorian that I managed to get you outta that U.N.I.T. prison, Tosh,’ Jack pointed out, ‘he’s pretty well connected in both U.N.I.T. and Torchwood.’

Tosh was looking at Dorian with new eyes. Owen grunted and downed the rest of his pint.

‘He pulled some strings, persuaded them to let me in and to make you a deal.’

‘Thank you,’ Tosh said, meaningfully to Dorian. Dorian didn’t really know what to say.

Behind them the TV showed Harriet Jones, the new Prime Minister, making a statement.

‘So what do you think about our new PM?’ asked Dorian.

‘She seems alright,’ Tosh commented as they all looked at the mousy woman in a salmon pink jacket.

‘Apparently she was there with the aliens in Downing street,’ said Owen. ‘But now that’s all been put down to a hoax.’

Jack’s phone buzzed. ‘It’s Suzie – Weevil infestation underneath the Museum. We’ve gotta go. Sorry Dorian.’ The Torchwood Three team gathered their things and headed out of the pub leaving Dorian alone with his pint of beer.

He drained it and followed them out into the drizzling Cardiff night.

 

***

 

As fate would have it, shortly after the Downing Street Incident, the doctor Dorian and Martha were assigned to was called to a house-call.

‘Mr James Hill is a seventy-one year old man with a recent history of osteoarthritis…’ Dr. Varley told the two medical students as they drove to Mr Hill’s house.

Dorian’s hearts skipped a beat upon hearing the name of their patient.

‘James Hill?’

‘Yes Smith, do you know him?’

‘No, not at all.’

Both Dr. Varley and Martha gave him a quizzical look. Dorian focused on what the doctor was saying. ‘We’re just going over for a quick check up. Blood tests and heart checks, all that, just to make sure his medication isn’t giving him an adverse reaction. He’s not had a great couple of years – his mother and his wife died a few years ago, bless him.’

‘His mother only died a few years ago?’ Dorian exclaimed, unable to stop himself.

‘Yes Smith, that’s what I said. What of it?’

‘Oh, nothing again, sorry,’ Dorian shrunk back in the back seat. He was making himself look like an idiot.

‘Are you feeling okay?’ Martha asked him quietly, a hand on his arm.

‘Yeah,’ Dorian put on a grin, ‘fit as a fiddle!’

Martha looked even more worried.

 

They pulled up in front of a row of terraced houses that all looked like clones of each other. One house still had Christmas decorations up despite it being early April.

‘This one here,’ Dr. Varley said, grabbing her bag from the boot of the car and making her way to the front door. She rang the doorbell.

Soon after the door opened revealing a wispy white haired man in a diamond-patterned jumper and corduroy trousers.

‘Ah, Dr. Varley, come on in,’ the man said.

‘Mr Hill, these are the two students I was telling you about – Martha Jones and Dorian Smith. Is it still okay if they help?’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’ He smiled, ‘And please, call me James, Mr Hill sounds far too formal.’

Dr. Varley and Martha stepped easily in through the front door, but Dorian had to pull himself together before entering. He followed the trudging James into the living-room where Dr. Varley was unloading her kit from her bag.

‘I say young man,’ James said, standing and pointing at Dorian. Dorian swallowed anxiously. ‘You look a lot like me when I was your age!’

Dorian quickly hid a slight grin. You’re not 241 yet though, he thought to himself.

‘Oh really?’ he said instead.

‘Yes, one moment,’ James heaved his way over to the mantelpiece and picked up a picture in a silver frame. ‘Here, take a look at that lad.’

Dorian took a look at it.

The picture showed James, who looked exactly like Dorian, in his mid-twenties with a slightly older woman who had black hair and a round face. Dorian recognised her instantly as Nancy, James' mother. Martha peeked at the picture over Dorian’s shoulder.

‘Wow, that does look like you Dorian!’ She whispered, ‘Who’s that with you James?’ she asked.

‘That was my mother, Nancy, a good woman.’

Dorian placed the picture back down on the mantelpiece.

‘Help yourselves to a cup of tea if you like,’ James smiled, settling down in an armchair. ‘There’s biscuits in the cupboard too.’

‘Smith?’ Dr. Varley called him over, ‘do you want to take James' blood pressure and check his heart first?’

Dorian nodded, taking the sphygmomanometer from the doctor. Dorian had always loved that piece of equipment, such a brilliant name for an inflatable cuff.

Dr. Varley went to the kitchen to make tea for them all while Dorian patiently told the old man, who was now quite obviously his son, to relax while the blood pressure cuff tightened around his arm.

Martha started good-naturedly inquiring about James' family. It turned out that James had a son and a daughter who were grown up and living in London as well. The conversation moved onto James' mother and Dorian was very pleased to find that she’d had a successful career running her own children’s care centre.

‘Never could let a kid go hungry,’ James remembered with a smile.

‘She sounds like quite a woman,’ Dorian said, loosening the tight cuff.

‘She was. A shame she never married though.’

‘Not even your father?’ Martha asked. Dorian briefly held his breath, wondering what James would say next.

‘I never knew my father dear,’ the old man said, ‘He was a Captain in the Royal Navy, my mother told me, but he never returned home from the War.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Martha apologised.

‘Sorry,’ Dorian murmured.

‘It’s not your fault, but it would have been nice to know who he was at least.’

 

Not long after, the appointment was finished.

‘You seem to be in good health James,’ Dr. Varley told him.

‘Well you tell my joints that,’ he chuckled, resting a hand against his back. ‘Giving me jip all night they were.’ Dr. Varley prescribed a few pills and they said goodbye to James Hill.

‘Are you alright Dorian?’ Martha asked, yet again, as they pulled away from the house back towards the hospital. ‘You’ve been very quiet.’

‘It’s nothing,’ he lied. It had been bothering him all day that he had left a young boy without a father, just like he had been left by his own father, except his young boy hadn’t even known his name. Though, saying that, Dorian didn’t know his father’s real name either.

 

When he got back to the flat that night Dorian was consumed by memories of both World Wars. He woke in the middle of the night from the nightmare which had struck once more.

 

***

 

‘Woah! Look at this one!’ For someone who had lived in London for over three years Ronan really hadn’t seen many of the ‘must see’ sights of the city. The Imperial War Museum was one of them.

‘That’s pretty cool,’ Gerard noted as the gang peered around a photographed image of two ships. One ship, lined with crew, was teetering on its edge as though about to capsize. The other was obviously attempting to rescue the crew before the ship went over. Dorian stepped back from the image, a flood of memories threatening to overwhelm him.

‘What ship is that?’ Martha asked, peering closely at the black and white photo, ‘there isn’t any explanation here,’

‘HMS Ark Royal,’ Dorian answered, almost immediately. ‘She was torpedoed by a U-boat off the coast of Gibraltar. HMS Legion was helping to evacuate the survivors.’

‘Where does it say that?’ Martha was still searching around the photo for the information.

‘It doesn’t. I’ve been here before,’ Dorian walked off to the other side of the room to compose himself.

He could almost feel the tilting of the aircraft carrier beneath his feet as it rolled over the waves of the Mediterranean en route to Gibraltar.

It was 13th November 1941 and Dorian was a young officer on board HMS Ark Royal. The crew had been warned of increased U-boat activity in the area, so Dorian was keeping watch on the starboard side along with a number of other men spanning the length of the ship.

The radio to Dorian’s left crackled. ‘Starboard Three, Starboard Three, Starboard Three, this is command, over.’ Dorian reached over and picked up the receiver. He flicked a switch upwards and spoke into the mouthpiece, very much like a telephone.

‘This is Starboard Three, receiving loud and clear. Send, over.’

‘Starboard Three, do you see anything? Over.’

‘No movement as yet, over.’

‘Copy that, out.’

Dorian set the radio back down and resumed his position overlooking the side of the ship. He checked his wristwatch: 15:30, only an hour and a half left of his shift; then he could get down to the mess and get some food. He took out the letter he had been writing to Nancy, a girl back home who had made an unexpected impact on his long life. What they had had started out as a bit of a fling that went on for longer than planned for both of them, but then Dorian was called back into the Royal Navy by U.N.I.T.

Barely ten minutes passed before the world exploded around Dorian.

Sirens blared and men screamed. The sound was deadened and Dorian realised that he couldn’t hear properly. The entire ship was shaking, struggling to stay afloat, a task made difficult by the massive torpedo hole in the starboard side. He grabbed the radio but was met only by static as all communications were down.

Dorian struggled to his feet and staggered out onto the deck of the ship. Smoke billowed out of the side of the ship below Dorian. The ship’s engines groaned with effort. Dorian helped those of his shipmates that he found back onto their feet and continued onwards until he reached the bridge.

It was utter mayhem. Captain Maund was ordering runners left, right and centre to check the status of the ship. Apparently HMS Courageous and HMS Glorious had also been hit and were sinking quickly. The chief engineer ran in reporting that the engines were being fully stopped as they spoke.

‘Smith!’ the Captain had finally spotted Dorian. ‘Fall in everyone on the flight deck! Now!’

Dorian sprinted back the way he came, shouting for everyone to get onto the flight deck. He threw himself through hatch after hatch as he spread the word. When Dorian got back onto the deck all of ship’s company were there. HMS Legion and HMS Hermione were alongside and ready to begin evacuation. A damage control party was put together to stay onboard to reduce the damage and try to save the ship, Dorian volunteered to stay behind. By now the ship was taking on a lot of water and was listing to starboard.

 

Dorian and the rest of the damage control party, along with the Captain and the chief engineer, discussed a plan of action. The key thing was to stop the flooding or reduce it as much as possible.

‘There are probably a lot of hatches and covers open below – we need to get them shut right away. Smith, Shaw and Hayes – you see to that. Engineers: you need to get down to the boiler rooms and see what damage has been done and try to reverse it. And for God’s sake don’t take stupid risks. Ships can be rebuilt, people can’t.’

They stepped to it. Dorian led the way down below; they were three levels from the bottom of the ship when they encountered the flood.

‘Spread out and get all the hatches closed! We’ll work our way back up.’ He ordered Shaw and Hayes.

Moments later the power went out but they carried on. The ship appeared to stabilise soon after and the majority of ship’s company were safe on board the other carriers. The entire starboard side was mangled and twisted from the blast.

 

‘Dorian?’ Martha’s hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his memory. Dorian could still taste the acrid smoke that choked him that day.

Every year it was the same: flashbacks of the war. It was sixty-one years to the day since Victory in Europe was declared. Dorian guessed that the flashbacks were his own annual version of shell-shock. There had been so many traumas in his life that it was hardly surprising, but sometimes he just wished it would stop – that he couldn’t remember any of the past and could start afresh.

‘Yeah, sorry, zoned out a bit there,’

‘Listen, I know you’ve not really been yourself the past few days since we went to visit Mr Hill,’ Dorian looked up into Martha’s wide brown eyes, wondering where the conversation was going. ‘But it’s okay, I spoke to Ronan and I understand.’

‘You spoke to Ronan?’

‘Yeah, about your father, is that okay?’

Dorian glanced over at Ronan who was being shown other relics of World War II by Gerard and Jo.

‘Really? What did he say exactly?’ Ronan knew that he wasn’t to tell anyone the truth about his father, and Dorian couldn’t understand why he would have said anything to Martha.

‘He just said about how you never really knew your Dad, and I guess I can see why you were a bit quiet after meeting Mr Hill. It must have really struck a bit close to home hearing him talk about not knowing his father.’ Martha gently held his hand.

‘Oh, yeah, that’s exactly what was on my mind,’ Dorian smiled back at Martha, he appreciated her thoughtfulness. ‘Shall we rejoin the others?’

Thankfully the gang moved onto the next room. Dorian took one last look at the photo of Ark Royal before following.

 


	9. The Faceless Ones

_** North London, 1st June 1953 ** _

Dorian woke bright and early with the sun as its first rays crept over the North London skyline. He checked the calendar on the wall of his one man bedroom – 1st June 1953 – the day before Queen Elizabeth II’s coronation.

He dressed in a casual suit and tie, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and slipping a tweed jacket over the top. He was posing as a local doctor this time, working undercover for Torchwood to investigate the strangest thing Dorian had ever seen, and that was saying a lot. He re-read the file on his desk: people with no faces were being found in this area and no one knew what was causing it.

He switched on the Television in the corner to check the day’s news while he greased his hair back, as was the style of the decade. He had bought the TV set only yesterday from Mr Magpie, the local electrical supplier down the road. It had been unusually cheap, but Dorian wasn’t complaining, tomorrow would be the seventh coronation of a British monarch that Dorian had seen, well, eighth if you included Edward VIII who abdicated after less than a month – that had been embarrassing.

He checked his hair once more in the mirror and slipped on his polished brown shoes before stepping downstairs and wishing his landlady, Mrs Harrison, a good morning.

 

‘What seems to be the problem Tommy?’ Dorian asked the young lad, looking pale beneath his combed brown hair. His big, burly father stood behind him, breathing loudly.

‘He’s looking pale,’ Mr Connolly announced.

‘Yes, I can see that, thank you Mr Connolly,’ Dorian smiled. He had met men like Connolly before – self-important and arrogant, telling everyone about how they had fought in the war, as if they were the only ones.

Mr Connolly snorted. ‘Well do something about it then!’

‘Mr Connolly, I cannot treat someone for simply “being pale” without knowing what is causing the problem. So if you would kindly let me continue my examination, then maybe I can help your son.’ Dorian thought he saw the corner of Tommy’s mouth twitch into a smile as his father resumed his angry silence.

‘So, Tommy, what’s bothering you?’ Tommy’s face slackened and he seemed to turn even paler, but the boy said nothing. He had dark shadows beneath his brown eyes. ‘How have you been sleeping?’

‘Not well,’ Tommy admitted. Mr Connolly coughed.

‘And why is that?’ Dorian asked softly. The Connollys were one of the families Dorian was keeping an eye on – Tommy’s grandmother had not been seen in over a week.

‘The banging, all night–’

‘The pipes, he means,’ Mr Connolly interrupted, ‘we’ve had some problems with the plumbing lately.’

Dorian looked from the shy young man to his rhino of a father. Dorian reached into his desk and pulled out a prescription form.

‘Take this to the chemist – it’s a sleeping pill that should help you get a few nights of rest until you can get those pipes fixed,’

Tommy gratefully took the slip of paper and, looking uncertainly at his father, left the room. Mr Connolly started to follow.

‘Mr Connolly,’ Dorian called, standing behind his desk and halting the man at the door, ‘a number of people have also had problems with their plumbing, so do be careful.’

Mr Connolly glared at Dorian before slamming the door on his way out. Dorian flung himself back onto his seat and wondered whether Mr Connolly had understood Dorian’s warning.

 

Back out on Florizel Street at lunchtime Dorian simply observed: the Jacksons were putting up their bunting, Mr Magpie was delivering a TV to the Bells and there was a black car pulled up outside the Gallaghers’. Dorian sat, waiting, on the street corner with a sandwich and a mug of tea that Mrs Jackson had made him.

All his attention was on the front door of the Gallaghers – if the men in black brought someone out of there then Dorian would need to act fast to catch up with them before they disappeared. After a month and a half on the job Dorian had only found a couple of clues that could help him.

Dorian watched and waited. That was until a blue scooter braked hard to avoid a double-decker bus, right in front of him. Dorian jumped to his feet, expecting a head injury at least. But what he saw instead pulled him up short. The man driving the bike took off his helmet, revealing a thick head of gelled brown hair, high cheekbones and sharp eyebrows. Dorian had seen that face a number of times before, always when trouble was about to erupt.

It was the face of his father.

The girl sat behind the Doctor wore a long bright pink skirt, very out of style, and a blue jacket. Dorian hadn’t seen the girl in almost 100 years but it had to be Rose, the Doctor’s companion.

Dorian’s mind turned over possibilities. He could just go and talk to the Doctor. He could introduce himself to the Doctor. He could ask the Doctor to help solve the mystery of the faceless people. But before Dorian had decided what he would do, the front door of the Gallaghers burst open.

‘Someone help me! Please! Ted!’ Mrs Gallagher cried. Two men in black overcoats pulled Mr Gallagher out of his house. Mr Gallagher’s face was covered by a blanket, but Dorian knew that it was only to stop other people seeing that the man no longer had a face. ‘Leave him alone, that’s my husband!’

The Doctor and Rose ran to Mr Gallagher’s aid, but Dorian had seen this happen before. He set down his tea and started running down the street, past his father, past Rose, and past the Connolly’s who had come out to see the commotion.

Dorian ran as fast as he could, trying to keep his head start on the car. He managed to stay ahead until the car turned into what Dorian called “Market Street”. There wasn’t an actual market, but every time Dorian had chased the Police car down that street two men and a cart of fruit and veg blocked the end of the street. But Dorian had been patient and watched that street too. He turned off into a side street as the black unmarked car drove behind him. The vegetable cart was just being made ready as Dorian jogged down the alleyway.

 

Dorian edged cautiously past a tall metal gate topped with barbed wire. The black car had pulled up beyond the gate. Dorian climbed up onto a covered bin and peeked over the wall; the two men and their driver exited the vehicle, holding the blanketed Mr Gallagher between them. They headed towards the dark, square building, pushing Mr Gallagher along. Once they were inside Dorian lifted himself up and over the wall, landing on the balls of his feet with a quiet thump.

After nearly two months of waiting, watching and planning, he was in the Police base. But what would he do now?

 

Dorian crept around the side of the building until he came to a plain, heavy, wooden door. Muscles straining at the effort, Dorian pulled the door open, grimacing as gravel scraped loudly in the quiet afternoon. Once the door was open far enough for Dorian’s slim frame to slip through, he entered the building.

The interior of the Police base was dimly lit, so it took a few moments for Dorian’s eyes to adjust from the blazing sunshine outside to the darkness inside. As he suspected, the building was a converted factory warehouse, with a large open floor and mesh cages along the walls. There happened to be one such cage opposite Dorian and, to his horror, it was occupied.

Edging closer, Dorian was sickened and outraged to find that the cages were filled with faceless people. He wondered at the humans and their fear of the abnormal – how they could just herd these people into cages and lock them up in pens as though they were cattle?

Here were these people who, had not only had their faces removed by some powerful, and as yet unknown, force, but they had also been publicly dragged from their families and were now locked in dark cages where it was standing room only. And all this from a country that had only recently won a war against a regime of extremism and ethnic cleansing.

He shook his head in disgust.

Approaching one of the cages, Dorian reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a wire cutter, your standard doctor’s tool, and began to snip himself a doorway into the cage. Once inside, he pulled out a small thin torch from his pocket. The torch was ideal for looking at people’s throats and eyes, but it was just as good for examining people with neither.

This was the first time Dorian had got close to a faceless person, so he decided to thoroughly examine one while he had the chance. There was a young woman in a knee-length brown skirt and a cream blouse to Dorian’s right. He shone the torch over her faceless face and gently ran his fingers over where the nose, mouth and eyes should have been. All the while he quietly murmured what he was doing, just in case the woman could still register sounds. But the woman didn’t seem to notice Dorian’s attentions, and remained stationary with her head cast downwards, occasionally shuffling on the spot.

‘What happened to you?’ Dorian wondered aloud as he examined the woman’s perfectly smooth jaw line. There was no sign of separation – the skin was simply continuous over the face, as though it had always been without facial features.

There was a distant clanging as someone pushed open a door at the far end of the warehouse. Dorian clicked off his torch and shuffled into the crowd, blending into the anonymous mass. Two dark suited men pushed a stumbling, blanket-covered figure ahead of them. They stopped in front of the door to Dorian’s cage and unlocked the mesh door. In the dim light of the warehouse they didn’t notice the hole where Dorian had cut himself a door. All around him the faceless figures began to flex their hands with a rubber-like stretching sound, and all shuffled to face the intruders. It was actually quite intimidating. Dorian briefly wondered why he didn’t receive a similar reaction, but dismissed the thought.

‘Get in, thing,’ one of them spat, pushing the faceless figure into the pen. Dorian recognised the three-piece suit of the person – it was Mr Gallagher. The way the faceless people were being treated was sickening Dorian, and cover or no cover, he had to do something.

Shuffling quickly and quietly, Dorian left the cage through his make-shift gate and stole after the two men who were grumbling about having to be delivery boys for the inspector.

 

Sure enough the two men led him up a flight of stairs to the door of an office. Dorian hid behind the corner as they went in.

‘Stuck ‘im in, sir!’ one of them announced before the door shut behind them with a dull clunk. As per his Torchwood training, Dorian assessed his environment. The Police didn’t seem to have paid the bills for the factory, or they were very cautious about not standing out, because everywhere was dimly lit. The only light seemed to come from the few rays of sunlight that managed to get through the layers of dirt and grime on the window panes. There were cardboard boxes strewn across the corridor, the only clear path was to the office, where boxes had been kicked aside or piled up against the walls. The pipes in the ceiling were uncovered and loose wires hung down to head height.

Dorian turned his attention to the office. From all he could see of the room through the small window in the door, it was a long, low-ceilinged room with a large window and some filing cabinets. He decided that it was time to make himself known to the Police.

Checking that his Torchwood ID was still in his top pocket, Dorian crept forward until he was standing with his back against the wall beside the door. He heard the voices inside murmuring in discussion. Dorian put one hand on the cold door handle and stepped quickly into the room.

The reaction was astounding. One of the goons fell backwards off his chair; the other dropped his cup of tea over his trouser leg. The one who seemed to be in charge, who Dorian had seen when Mr Gallagher was taken, pulled a pistol from his belt and aimed it at Dorian.

‘Stop right where you are, sonny,’ he ordered. Dorian sighed and raised his hands above his head. The man aiming at Dorian, at point-blank range, was a tired-looking, middle-aged man in a dark suit. Judging from his position behind his desk and his calm demeanour when threatening to shoot someone, Dorian presumed that he was the inspector the other two had been moaning about.

‘Who are you and how did you get in here?’ he barked. Behind him the other two had recovered from their initial reactions enough to pull their identical pistols on Dorian too. Both were red in the face and looked angry enough at Dorian’s intrusion to shoot him there and then.

‘Captain Dorian Smith, Torchwood,’ he began.

‘Torchwood? Never heard of it,’ the one who had fallen off his chair muttered.

‘I have my ID in my top pocket, if you’ll let me reach it?’ Dorian told the inspector, who nodded at the tea-spiller. The man lowered his weapon and stepped towards Dorian, slipping the ID wallet from Dorian’s breast pocket.

The inspector scanned the ID card and looked uncertainly up at Dorian.

‘Lower your weapons men,’ he ordered, doing the same himself. ‘Killick, get onto Headquarters and check Captain Smith’s identity.’ The one who had dropped his tea grudgingly went to the telephone at the back of the room.

‘I’m Detective Inspector Bishop. Please, take a seat,’

The inspector indicated to the chair on the opposite side of the desk.

‘Okay Captain Smith, let’s talk,’

‘I’m here investigating reports of possible extra-terrestrial activity resulting in the removal of people’s faces,’ Dorian began.

‘Extra-terrestrial?’ one of the goons scoffed, ‘you some sorta nutter?’

‘Easy Graves,’ Detective Inspector Bishop warned. Graves snarled in Dorian’s direction.

‘No, I’m not mad,’ Dorian replied with a glare, ‘but I am angry. I’ve seen how you treat these people–’

‘When?’ Demanded Graves. Dorian liked him even less now. His colleague, Killick, was still on the phone in the far corner.

‘Not ten minutes ago – I was down in one of the cages when you and your buddy over there added another “thing” to the crowd,’ There was no mistaking the accusation in Dorian’s tone, but Graves did nothing but leer at the young blond Captain.

‘They’re not normal, what d’you expect me to call ‘em when they ain’t got faces?’ He took a forceful step towards Dorian.

‘People, perhaps?’ Dorian rose from the desk to meet his challenge.

‘Now now gents, let’s calm down a tad,’ Urged Detective Inspector Bishop, a faint look of panic in his tired eyes.

‘Sir?’ Killick was finished on the phone. He beckoned to Bishop and Graves.

‘Captain Smith, you stay here. Graves, with me,’ they joined the third man at the back of the room in quiet discussion.

Dorian checked his breathing; his hands were shaking with rage at Graves’ lack of compassion. If there was one thing Dorian was proud of inheriting from his father, it was his ability to be compassionate towards everyone and everything. Yet it was that which made serving in two World Wars and numerous other conflicts a living hell.

The three Police officers had fallen silent. Dorian looked up from his now still hands to see the apprehension in Bishop’s face, the curiosity in Killick’s and the sadistic glare in Graves’ as he raised his pistol  from its holster to point at Dorian.

‘Headquarters has just given us some quite unusual facts about you Captain Smith,’ the Inspector told him. Dorian backed up against the window. ‘Especially concerning your reaction to gunshots.’

Dorian wondered what Headquarters had told them, and more importantly, why?. Graves was aiming at point blank range, and Dorian knew from experience that if he fired it would really hurt.

‘Just to check that you really are who you say you are, we’re going to have to test you with this. If you are Captain Dorian Smith you will have nothing to worry about and we can talk later. But if you aren’t,’ Graves sneered as he adjusted his aim, leaving the sentence hanging.

Two loud shots were the last things Dorian heard as the right of his chest was pierced. A bullet. And again on his left. His vision went black as he crumpled to the floor.

 


	10. The Idiot's Lantern

Dorian gasped for breath. It was dark around him, with only a tiny bit of light somewhere above his head. Where was he? He was lying on a cold floor, wherever he was. There was a sort of ominous creaking around him. Dorian tried to lift himself into a sitting position. Pain shot through his chest and arms and his head fell back to the floor with a thud. _Ow._

Then Dorian remembered what had happened. He’d been shot by that thug, Graves, while the Detective Inspector and his other goon, Killick, had watched. Dorian realised where he was: in one of the cages for the faceless people. The ominous creaking was their hands, flexing. He strained his eyes to see shapes in the gloom, shapes of men, women, and children.

A metallic screech announced the opening of the cage door. Dorian assumed it was Bishop coming to see if he was alive again. Ignoring the pain from his chest, he forced himself to sit up. The creaking of the hands grew louder, more insistent.

A faint blue light lit up some of the faceless faces in the cage. Dorian dragged himself backwards against a wall; he wasn’t yet recovered enough to stand up without help. The intimidating clip-clop of shoes echoed all around him as the caged crowd unseeingly surged towards the source of the blue light. If it was another person, investigating as Dorian had done, they were in trouble. He tried to stand, but before he could even put his weight on his feet, he was blinded by a flood of light.

‘Stay where you are!’ Bishop’s voice ordered. The light cast shadows on the wall Dorian was leaning against. A man was pulled out of the cage. Dorian clawed his way up the side of the cage to get himself onto his feet.

In the dim light of the Police base holding-pen, Dorian saw a man being escorted to the stairs by Bishop and Graves. Dorian’s eyes were wide as he recognised the man’s suit. The Doctor.

Dorian shook his head bitterly as the mesh door screeched open again and Killick dragged Dorian through the crowd of faceless people. Almost.

 

Killick dragged Dorian out into the car park. Halfway across, another large, balding man joined them. Dorian could hear the Detective Inspector Bishop’s voice echoing across the empty concourse as he interrogated the Doctor. Dorian just hoped his father wouldn’t receive the same treatment as Dorian had.

The sun was rising over the terraced houses of North London. It was Coronation day.

‘Where are you taking me?’ Dorian asked, as he was pushed into the back seat.

‘There are some very important people who would like to speak to you, Captain,’ Killick replied.

‘Who?’

‘I can’t tell you that, sir. Me an’ Crabtree just got orders to take you there, sir.’ From the passenger seat, Crabtree nodded.

‘Ah, orders from above?’ Dorian guessed, ‘Detective Inspector Bishop was it?’

‘No sir, not ‘im.’ Killick hesitated a moment, as if he wasn’t sure he should carry on, as the car pulled out of the compound. A few seconds later he continued. ‘In all honesty sir, the news ‘e got about you shocked ‘im. To the core like. It’s very alien, if you don’t mind me using the word, sir.’

‘Careful,’ Crabtree warned, but Killick ignored him.

‘He was in a right state after Graves shot you – shoutin’ at us sayin’ “we just killed an innocent man” and things like that. He was goin’ mad like, tearin’ at ‘is ‘air and ‘is tie and all. Not like an officer at all, sir.’

They had just rounded the corner of Damascus Road, by Magpie’s Electronics shop, when Killick slammed on the brakes, bringing the heavy car to a screeching halt.

‘What the hell are you doin’?’ Killick yelled at the person he’d almost hit. It was a woman, in a bright pink skirt and denim jacket. An unusually modern outfit. Dorian recognised her and jumped out of the car.

‘Sir?’ Killick called, as he and Crabtree clambered out of the car as well.

‘Rose?’ Dorian asked, walking slowly over to the girl. She was just standing there, rocking from side to side on her pink-heeled feet.  As Dorian reached out to touch her shoulder, he had a sickening feeling about what had happened to her. At his touch, she turned towards him, confirming his suspicions. Her face was gone.

‘Crabtree, get a blanket from the boot before anyone sees her!’ Killick ordered.

‘Wait!’ Dorian ordered, looking around the street. What had Rose been doing out here without the Doctor? They were a few streets away from Florizel Street where Dorian had glimpsed the pair earlier that day. There was nothing around Damascus Road but Magpie’s shop and a couple of houses.

‘Sir, we’ve got to get her out of sight before people see. You know, because of the Coronation. We’ll take her back to the base, put her with the others.’ Killick said as Crabtree brought the blanket over.

Dorian glared at him as the muffled sounds of people rising for the big day began. ‘No.’ He said firmly. ‘You will not just “put her with the others”. Take her back to the base, fine, but take her directly to Detective Inspector Bishop. And do it gently. That’s an order. Understand?’

‘Yes sir,’ Killick nodded. ‘Aren’t you comin’ back with us sir?’

‘I’m going to find out what she was doing out here, and I’m going to try to get to the bottom of this before it happens to anyone else.’

 

The car had just pulled back around the corner of Damascus Road when Dorian launched into action. Rose’s location had given Dorian an idea, but he had to go and confirm his suspicions before he acted on them. So with that in mind, Dorian sprinted off to Florizel Street.

The milkman was doing his rounds as Dorian stared down the street, scanning the rooftops; there were television aerials on almost every house. He ticked them off on a mental list: the Gallaghers, Mr Gallagher had gone the previous day. The Jacksons, their son Timothy had been one of the first. The Woods, the Davies’, the MacDonalds. All of them had television aerials, and all of them had at least one family member whose face had been removed. The Connollys. They’d only recently had their aerial put up. But Dorian was already convinced of the link. It was only when young Tommy opened the front door to collect the milk that Dorian decided on one final check.

‘Tommy!’ he called, jogging over to the boy.

‘Hello Dr Smith,’ the boy smiled, though his tone didn’t seem to fit his face; Dorian knew then that someone in the Connolly household had been taken. ‘You ready for the big day?’

‘Yes, thank you Tommy. I’m really only here to ask you one question.’

The boy nodded.

‘I’ve been away since last night, I’m just wondering, has anyone in your family been taken away,’ There was no need for specifics as Tommy knew what he meant.

‘They got Gran last night. We thought the Doctor, that is another doctor who came to the house, could help, but they came and took her before he could.’

‘And what was she doing when she changed?’

Tommy shrugged, ‘Just watching telly,’

‘Tommy! Get back inside!’ Mr Connolly’s voice boomed from within the house, before the front door was wrenched open. ‘Oh, it’s you Dr Smith. What do you want this early in the morning?’

Dorian put on his politest smile. ‘Just having a little chat to Tommy, Mr Connolly. I was out taking a walk this fine morning, you know, nothing like some fresh air to clear the mind. And of course it’s the big day, we all need to be at our best don’t we?’

‘Exactly doctor, in fact I was just telling Rita that she should do ‘er hair up nice like, even though ‘er Majesty won’t be able to see it,’

‘Very good Mr Connolly,’ Dorian nodded, ‘I’ll just be heading back home to get ready myself then, goodbye Mr Connolly, goodbye Tommy.’ Dorian waved before walking briskly back to Damascus Road.

 

***

 

‘Magpie!’ Dorian yelled as he hammered on the door to the electronics shop. He heard a shuffling within the shop and the door swung open a moment later to reveal the short and tired-looking Mr Magpie.

‘What can I do for you Dr Smith?’ the shop-keeper asked nervously, blocking the doorway with his small build.

‘Can we talk inside?’ Dorian asked, feigning politeness. Magpie’s hesitation was all he needed. Dorian pushed past the little man and found himself in the middle of the shop, surrounded by televisions.

‘Here, what’s all this about doctor?’ Magpie exclaimed.

‘Don’t play games with me Mr Magpie; I’m here to get some answers. You’ve been selling television sets cheap. Why?’

‘So that- So that as many people as possible can get the honour of watching the Coronation in the comfort of their own homes, doctor.’ Magpie stuttered.

‘Right. Well each house that has one of your televisions has had a person smuggled away by the Police because their faces have been taken from them. Do you have anything to say to that Mr Magpie?’

‘Had their faces taken?’ Magpie chuckled nervously, ‘sounds like you’ve been having a bit of a drink doc. Early celebration was it?’

Dorian noticed that Magpie had locked the door to the shop. Glancing around for anything unusual, Dorian backed towards the till. On the workbench beside the till was a black box with a small screen in the middle. Magpie’s eyes darted from Dorian to the box.

Dorian grabbed the box.

‘This looks important to you Magpie, so maybe you’ll cooperate with me now or I’ll smash this box to pieces. Besides, it looks a little bit beyond your time, I’d say.’

‘I made that with my own hands doctor,’ Magpie swallowed hard. ‘It’s just a little thing I tinker about with, nothing you’d understand.’

‘On the contrary, I’m very good with things like this, and though I don’t doubt it was made by your hands, I suspect that it wasn’t your idea. Judging by the texture of the material and the taste,’ Dorian licked the box to Magpie’s surprise, ‘yep, iron. Bakelite, a thermosetting phenol formaldehyde resin, known for its electrical nonconductivity and heat-resistant properties making it an ideal component for radio and telephone casings. But it’s the televisions that have been causing the problem,’ Dorian thought out loud, as he always did when solving a puzzle. Magpie stood horrified beside the door. A television in the corner of the room flickered on.

‘It’s been taking people’s faces, not surprising as television is a visual media. So this box is some sort of television, but smaller, easy to carry around. A portable television! But what good is that to you?’

‘Oooh, I like this one,’ said a woman’s voice from behind Dorian. It was the woman from the television, talking to Dorian.

‘What are you?’ Dorian asked, realising that it wasn’t the actual woman. It was something inside the television, somewhere in the electronics.

‘I am the Wire,’ it said simply.

‘Where are you from? You’re not of Earth. What do you want with the human faces?’

‘Very good, I am not of this Earth, indeed. I am from a planet, a long way from here. I was executed but escaped as an energy form through the communications device of one of my executioners. He was illegally recording my death you see. So I managed to find myself here.’

‘But what do you want? Why are you taking people’s faces?’

‘Why does anyone want anything? Power and greed.’

‘So the faces are energy? No, that’s not enough. Behind the faces – their brains! You’re feeding of the electrical energy of people’s minds!’

‘Well done, that is correct. This one is smart. But that will not help you,’ The Wire announced as pink and purple sparks jumped around the television set. ‘I think you’ll make a grand feast!’

Dorian took a step backwards, but the sparks arced towards him, latching onto his face.

‘Aaaargh!’ Dorian screamed as the Wire glued itself to him. It felt as though his entire being was being sucked into the television screen. He couldn’t move his arms or legs, not that it would have helped him – he had nothing to defend himself with.

‘Magpie,’ the Wire said as Dorian began to lose consciousness, ‘keep this one around in case I want a snack.’

Then Dorian dropped to the floor, unconscious, but he still had his face.

 


	11. City of Death

On the steps of Westminster Abbey, Princess Elizabeth made her way to her Coronation with the eyes of the country upon her.

Almost 8 miles away, Dorian Smith groaned in the back of a van. His head hurt like he’d been kicked in the head by a horse, and he knew that feeling from experience. The interior of the van he was in was cream coloured, and there were electrical supplies pushed up against the sides. He was in Magpie’s van, he realised.

Dorian kicked the back doors of the van hard. Someone shouted outside, but Dorian kicked again. After a third kick, the doors swung open and an outraged Police security guard, in white cap and gloves, stood before him.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ the man asked.

‘Where am I?’ Dorian asked as he flashed his ID card at him.

‘Alexandra Palace, Captain,’ the man said, backing off apologetically.

‘Of course! A transmitter!’

‘Are you here for His Majesty?’ the Policeman asked.

‘Who?’

‘The King of Belgium! He’s just gone climbing up the television tower! I told him he’d get himself killed, but you know these foreign royals,’

Dorian looked up and spotted, not one, but two people climbing the television tower. One, in his long brown coat, was easily recognisable as the Doctor. The other, Dorian assumed was Mr Magpie, but he was higher up and Dorian couldn’t clearly make out his face.  There were pink electrical arcs spreading from the tower across the horizon. Somehow, Magpie had been successful in transporting the Wire and connecting the portable television to the tower in order to transmit the Wire across the nation.

The Doctor almost lost his footing on the tower when a shock hit him, but he hung on. Dorian stared up with baited breath. Another shock hit Magpie and he began to fall from the tower. Dorian ran beneath as though to catch him when he hit the floor, but he hadn’t even fallen a foot when he burst into ashes and was blown to the wind.

Dorian looked around for a way of helping. He spotted a coil of wire on the ground, running from the Doctor to the inside of the building. He followed the wire, hoping that he could do something that day other than be shot and knocked out.

The copper wire led him to a transmission room, where he found none other than Tommy Connolly.

‘Tommy!’

‘Dr Smith!’

‘What are you doing here?’ Dorian asked. There was a large amateur looking machine in front of Tommy.

‘I’m helping the Doctor, I mean, that other doctor I was telling you about this morning,’

‘Great stuff Tommy, do you need me to do anything?’

‘I don’t think so, the Doctor just told me to stay here and make sure this works. The only thing is, I don’t know how it’s meant to work,’ the boy shrugged.

Dorian took a closer look at the device. ‘Hmmm, by the looks of it, this is a receiver and a recording device.’ The plan clicked in Dorian’s mind. ‘Yes! If the Doctor turns the transmitter back into a receiver then he can trap the Wire in this device and isolate it! Brilliant!’

‘So do I need to do anything?’ Tommy asked.

‘No, just make sure you’ve got a couple of bulbs – that’s the most likely thing to blow if there’s too much power surging through it. I’ll help you look,’

Together the two of them found all the bulbs in the room and next door and placed them on the bookcase in the corner.

‘I’ll be next door, getting the phone ready to make a call,’ Dorian told Tommy, but he’d barely crossed the threshold of the next room to ring Detective Inspector Bishop back at the base when Tommy yelled for help.

‘The bulbs have blown!’ Tommy grabbed a bulb from the bookcase and hurried about replacing one of the blown ones. Dorian grabbed another and did the same. Once both bulbs were secured, Tommy grabbed the plug and shoved it in the socket.

The pink electricity sparked around the recording device as Dorian pulled Tommy away from it and looked out of the window. The arcs that had spread across the city had been withdrawn; the Wire had been stopped.

‘Take a seat Tommy, it’s okay now.’ Dorian reassured him.

‘What about my Gran? Will she be alright, now that it’s gone?’

‘I’ll go and make that call, then I’ll let you know,’ Dorian hurried next door to make that call again.

‘Bishop? Crabtree! Great, get downstairs to where the people are – get them outside, they should be fine now. Yes, faces back and everything. I’ll be there in ten. Bye!’

Dorian whisked back in to see Tommy. ‘Your Gran should be fine now Tommy, I’ll go back to the station and make sure all the people are looked after. You wait here for the Doctor then come by Market Street, they will all be there.’ Tommy grinned. ‘But can you do me a favour Tommy?’

‘Anything doc,’

‘Don’t tell the Doctor I was here,’

‘Why?’ Tommy was rightfully confused. ‘Do you two know each other?’

‘It’s complicated, but just don’t tell him, okay?’

‘Okay, and thanks Dr Smith,’

Dorian patted the boy on his shoulder before running back to Market Street. As he ran, God Save the Queen rang out from all the televisions and radios and Queen Elizabeth II waved from the balcony of Buckingham Palace.

 

***

 

Crabtree, Killick and Graves had opened the cages of the Police base and were helping the older citizens out of the building when Dorian arrived there. He spoke to Tommy’s gran and made sure she was okay, before moving on and checking everyone else. Rose was there too, helping out others as well.

‘Sorry,’ she said, as Dorian passed a pack of biscuits around. He’d found them in Bishop’s desk. ‘Have I met you before?’

Dorian was saved answering by Tommy’s gran. ‘This is Dr Smith; he’s a very good doctor. Handsome too!’

Rose chuckled as Tommy’s gran reached up and gave Dorian a peck on the cheek.

‘I’m probably thinking of someone else, I’m sure I’d remember you if you have this impression on all the ladies,’ Dorian laughed with her.

‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ he asked, thinking that all the people could do with a drink.

‘Very British,’ she said, putting on an over-the-top accent, ‘yes please,’

Dorian excused himself and went up to the office in the Police base to make the tea and find as many cups as possible.

From the window, Dorian saw the Doctor and Tommy arrive. Tommy ran to meet his gran and gave her a big hug, it made Dorian smile. Then the Doctor strolled over, his eyes searching for Rose. They found each other and an equally large grin spread over both of their faces as they embraced.

Dorian stepped away from the window, his thoughts wandering. He headed back to his apartment, avoiding people, and typed up the report of his mission.

 

***

 

‘Why didn’t you let Tommy tell the Doctor about you?’ Ronan asked when Dorian released him from the memory.

Dorian shrugged, ‘I was just being cautious I suppose. If Tommy had told him that I’d figured out his plan then the Doctor would have wanted to meet me to find someone as smart as him, and I don’t know if he’s met my mother yet.’

‘So how will you know when it’s safe to meet him?’

‘I don’t really,’ he admitted. ‘All I have to go on is what Jack has told me, and all he’s said is “the 21st Century” which spans quite a large portion of time,’

‘Nothing else?’ Ronan wondered how anyone could be so patient about such a massive thing, but, he guessed, when you’ve lived through two and a half centuries patience becomes something you need.

‘There was one other thing he said to me, but I’ve never really understood what he meant by it,’ Dorian’s eyebrows creased in thought as he glanced up at his flatmate. ‘He said that I won’t meet the Doctor until “after the school”,’

‘As in after university? But we’re just about to start fourth year, it’s another two years until we graduate,’ Ronan pointed out.

‘I don’t think he means uni, but I’ve no other ideas about it,’

‘Maybe you’ll just know when you get to the right time?’ Ronan thought it was a really lame suggestion, but Dorian shrugged as though it was possible.

‘Maybe.’

 

***

 

‘Ah, Cardiff,’ Gerard breathed, stepping off the train at Cardiff Central Station. The standard Welsh train announcement message played overhead.

‘I wonder what they’re saying,’ Martha wondered aloud.

‘The next train departing platform 3 is for Swansea,’ Dorian translated immediately as he carried his and Martha’s bags off the train.

‘You know Welsh?’ Jo asked, impressed.

‘Ydw, tipyn bach,’ he smiled, saying the Welsh for ‘yes, a little’. Dorian decided to skirt over the fact that he’d learnt Welsh back in the 1800s when he’d lived in Cardiff.

‘Don’t compliment him Jo,’ Ronan joked, ‘you know how big his head gets with praise.’

Jo closed her mouth, about to praise Dorian’s language skills.

‘So D, you’re our walking guide to Cardiff – where do we go now?’

‘First, we get out of this station,’ Dorian indicated to the stone steps leading underground from the platform. ‘Oh, sorry,’ he apologised hastily as he almost smacked someone in the face with his hand.

‘No worries mate,’ the guy replied in a strong London accent. Dorian did a double take thinking he’d seen the guy somewhere before. He was stocky, dark skinned with closely shaved black hair. Dorian shrugged the feeling off – after 200 years he got the feeling of déjà vu more than usual.

Dorian saw the guy again on the BayCar bus to Cardiff Bay. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the guy was important.

 

After dumping their bags at the hotel, Dorian gave his four friends the guide to Cardiff Bay. It was a lovely day, just the right weather for their week’s getaway from London life before launching into their fourth year of medical school.

‘Cardiff!’ He began, launching into everything he knew about the city for his friends’ benefit. Ronan rolled his eyes. ‘Meaning: “fort on the Taff”, birthplace of children’s author Roald Dahl – hence the renaming of this area as the Roald Dahl Plass. Cardiff Bay, in fact, was once one of the richest cities in the world; this was due to the docks and the coal industry which Wales is pretty famous for.’

‘Thank you Wikipedia!’ Ronan interrupted before Dorian got too excited in his tour guide role. ‘Anything relevant to where we can get lunch?’

Dorian looked around him. The Wales Millennium Centre was curled up in the middle of the plaza, just in front of it was the tall, silver water tower which Dorian knew stood above the hidden base of Torchwood Three. The sun glinted off the sea with Penarth in the distance, but Dorian was majorly distracted by the little blue Police box parked right above the Torchwood base.

‘Dorian?’ Martha nudged his arm, snapping him out of his thoughts ‘Where can we get food?’

‘Uh,’ he looked around again, ‘wind’s coming from the east, so let’s go this way,’ he led the gang off towards the wharf.

‘What’s the wind got to do with anything?’ Jo asked Gerard quietly.

‘No idea, just go with it.’

 

First, they tried the café on the pier, but as soon as Dorian stepped into the building he saw a big-eared man in a black leather jacket and recognised him as the Doctor. He also saw that the Doctor was sitting and laughing with Jack Harkness, who looked just the same as when Dorian first met Jack on a snowy Christmas Eve in the same city in 1869 - right down to the slightly too-tight white t-shirt.

‘No, not here,’ he said, turning around and forcing Martha, Ronan, Gerard and Jo back out of the café.

‘What’s wrong with in there?’ Martha asked, looking back. Dorian heard the Doctor and his friends laughing loudly.

‘Too crowded,’ Dorian answered dismissively.

‘But there was loads of space.’

Instead they went to a more crowded café bar further down the waterfront.

‘Table for five?’ asked a waitress before leading the group over to a table in the corner.  They perused the menu before settling on their orders.

‘Let’s see what’s going on in Welsh news shall we?’ Gerard asked, filching a copy of the Western Mail from a nearby table. He flicked straight to the sports pages at the back.

‘Wait, Ger! What’s the front page story?’ Dorian had just caught a glimpse of a woman’s face that he recognised from the alien “hoax” of last March. The headline beneath the woman read ‘New Mayor, new Cardiff’.

‘Uh, something about the new Mayor of Cardiff being elected. Margaret Blaine her name is. Ooh, she’s planning on building a nuclear power plant,’ Gerard flicked through to the continuation of the story further on in the paper. ‘Cardiff castle will be demolished… Blade Drug project? I’ve no idea how you pronounce Welsh, D, you have a look,’

Dorian scanned where Gerard was pointing, ‘The Blaidd Drwg Project, it means Bad Wolf in Welsh,’

‘Yeah, so she says the Blind Dude project will be a “monument to Welsh industry” and all that stuff. Ooh, apparently there’s talk of a curse! “An entire team of European safety inspectors” assessed the plans but, oh wow, they blew up… Blaine regrettably says that it was unfortunate that “danger, explosives!” was only written in Welsh, not French. The Cardiff Heritage Committee were electrocuted in a swimming pool, the fault has been put down to “natural wear and tear”… Blaine herself ran over an architect of the project, blaming the low visibility on Welsh rain… Oh my God, the government’s nuclear advisor was decapitated after slipping on an icy patch!’ Gerard looked to Dorian, ‘I thought you said Cardiff was a safe place to be!’

Dorian looked his friend seriously in the eye. ‘I would never say that about Cardiff.’

 

***

 

‘Hey, you guys,’ Dorian piped up as they walked along the waterfront of Cardiff Bay. ‘I’ve just got to go and check on something, I’ll catch up with you later, okay?’

They all murmured their assent, but before Dorian could walk off Ronan caught his arm.

‘The woman on the front page – the Mayor – she was at Downing Street when the aliens were wasn’t she?’

Dorian nodded.

‘And you think she’s an alien?’

Dorian nodded again.

‘And you’re going after her?’

Dorian nodded for a third time.

‘Be careful mate,’ Ronan sighed, clapping his best friend on the back.

 

Dorian headed off to the Mayor’s office, his mind clouded with thoughts. The Doctor and an alien in Cardiff? After 200 years Dorian didn’t much believe in coincidence. But what could bring the two together? Dorian glanced at the TARDIS parked above the Torchwood Hub and the answer hit him – the Rift! The source of many of the weird goings on around the city, a break in the fabric of time and space. As well as something that attracts a great deal of extra-terrestrial interest.

Jack had been the one to tell Dorian about the existence of the Cardiff Rift after he’d popped out of thin air that snowy night in 1869. Dorian pulled out his mobile and dialled Jack’s number. The dial tone rang and rang and rang until finally,

‘Hello, Captain Jack Harkness here, I’m not available right now so leave a message after the beep and I’ll get back to you at some point,’ Dorian waited until Jack’s American accent was cut off by the beep.

‘Hi Jack, it’s Dorian. Listen, I’m not really sure what’s going on, but the Doctor’s in Cardiff and it looks like he’s with you, but before I ever met you. So give me a call back when you can.’

With a sigh, Dorian hung up and slipped his phone back into his pocket. He had reached the Mayor’s office in no time and stopped in the doorway.

‘Excuse me,’ he asked a cleaner. He instantly regretted asking because she looked in no mood to be answering any questions.

‘Uh, which was is the Mayor’s office?’ The woman scowled at him and pointed him in the right direction.

‘No running!’ She barked at Dorian’s back. He glanced behind him, confused – he had been walking normally.

‘Hello,’ Dorian smiled politely at the young male secretary. He was dressed in a smart black suit, obviously new to the job and still trying to make a good impression. ‘I’m here to see the Mayor.’

The secretary regarded Dorian cautiously. ‘Do you have an appointment sir?’ he asked, his North Walian accent coming through in his clipped tone.

‘No, I just fancied a chat actually.’

‘I’m afraid the Mayor’s busy at the moment, sir. If you could make an appointment and come back another time?’

‘I’m only around for tonight and I just thought I’d pop by, if it’s not too much trouble,’ Dorian pushed, moving towards the office door.

The secretary stood up just a little bit too quickly.  ‘I told you, the Mayor is busy.’

‘Well what’s she doing then?’

‘Very important planning for the Blaidd Drwg project,’ The secretary moved to block the door, ‘it’s best not to disturb her.’

‘I’ll just pop my head in to say hi,’ Dorian reached around the secretary and put his hand on the door handle. The secretary looked like he was about to cry.

‘No!’ he yelled when Dorian quickly forced the door handle. The office door swung open revealing… an empty room.

‘Where is she?’ Dorian demanded as the secretary slumped against the door frame.

‘I don’t know!’ the secretary put his head in his hands. Dorian surveyed the room. There was a broken teacup near the desk, a dried brown stain spread in a pool around the shards. But the most noticeable feature of the room was the broken window behind the desk. Dorian marched over to the smashed window and looked down. It wasn’t hard to reach the ground from the window, so he guessed that the Mayor had escaped from there. But why?

The secretary was still talking to himself by the door.

‘Why does everyone want to see the Mayor today?’ he moaned, ‘First that Doctor and now you, both of you just barge in when I say she’s busy, and now she’s run off and I can’t get hold of her!’

‘What did you just say?’ Dorian asked, crouching down beside the grumbling man.

‘She’s run off and I can’t get hold of her,’ he pouted.

‘No, before that, you mentioned a doctor?’

‘Not a doctor, the Doctor. That’s what he told me to tell the Mayor any way. And then she escaped out of the window!’

‘How long ago was this?’ Dorian asked, checking his watch.

‘About an hour and a half, maybe?’

That meant that the Doctor had come after the Mayor not long after Dorian had seen him in the café.

‘Thank you very much Mr…’ Dorian hesitated; he didn’t know the secretary’s name.

‘Hopper, Idris Hopper,’ the man sniffed.

‘Thank you very much, Idris Hopper,’ Dorian said as he left the office.

He rejoined his friends along the waterfront feeling relaxed and reassured that the alien Mayor of Cardiff was safely secured in the Doctor’s care.

 


	12. Boom Town

 

It was a lovely evening, Dorian thought, as he walked arm in arm with Martha through Cardiff Bay. She was dressed in a lovely little black dress, ready for the gang to head over to Cardiff town for a spot of clubbing. Dorian was in a smart blue shirt (a birthday present from Martha) and some dark jeans.

Martha told Dorian about a family holiday to Wales that she had been on as they walked past a couple sat on a bench beside the docks. Dorian glanced their way and took a sharp breath.

‘What is it Dorian?’ Martha asked, concerned as always.

‘Nothing,’ he smiled. ‘What were you saying?’

She carried on, albeit with a puzzled look at her boyfriend, but as they moved on Dorian shot a sideways look at Rose and the guy from the bus, who Dorian guessed was her boyfriend. Both of them had been with the Doctor and Jack earlier. Had they already gotten rid of the alien Mayor? If not, where was she now?

They stepped onto the boardwalk.

‘Is that thunder?’ Martha broke off her story, looking to the clear sky.

Dorian however was looking around him. ‘That’s not thunder.’

Around them lights exploded and glass shattered.

Dorian grabbed Martha’s hand. ‘We’ve got to get back to the others!’

The previously starry sky was blooming with storm clouds, dark and angry.  Martha cried out in shock as the street lamp above them smashed. Dorian covered her with his arms. ‘Come on!’

It was tough for Martha to run in her heels, but they kept going. Roof tiles slipped and shattered on the pavement. Electric wires sparked and fizzed.

They ran past Rose’s boyfriend, but Rose was nowhere to be seen.

‘Go on then, run!’ He was yelling. ‘It’s him again isn’t it? It’s the Doctor! It’s always going to be the Doctor! It’s never me!’

No one listened to him but Dorian, who resisted the urge to turn around and comfort the guy in the midst of all the chaos. But Dorian had to get Martha to safety. Up ahead Dorian saw a stripe of blue illuminating the suddenly stormy sky above Cardiff Bay. He didn’t need to guess that it was coming from the TARDIS. Everything happens around the TARDIS, especially when it’s parked on a Rift in time and space.

‘Ow!’ Martha staggered as the heel of her slimbacks snapped.

‘Nevermind,’ Dorian continued, whisking Martha into his arms. She clung to him as he jogged on, his breathing barely altering.

‘How are you still running?’ she asked, surprised.

‘Let’s just say I’ve had practice,’ he replied smoothly, the ground ahead of them cracked and crumbled. People all around screamed as they ran. Dorian and Martha reached their hotel.

‘Off you get,’ Dorian deposited Martha on the shaking ground. She pecked him on the cheek and they hurried inside. ‘Let’s find a cupboard.’

Despite the chaos around her, Martha smirked. ‘I don’t think now is really the time.’

Dorian blushed furiously. ‘I meant-’

‘I know what you meant, come on!’ She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the lobby. ‘We need a cleaning closet. I think I saw one by the lifts!’

They charged through the deserted lobby and into a hallway. About halfway down the cream walled corridor were the chrome elevators, beside a plain wooden door. Dorian wrenched open the door and, to his surprise, found it full.

‘Evening all,’ he said, letting Martha in front of him and shutting the door behind him. Gerard, Jo and Ronan were already there.

‘We wondered where you two’d got to.’ Ronan sniffed, squashed into the with a mop.

‘Oh you know, out and about, then suddenly there was an earthquake and we thought we’d better check on you guys.’ Dorian gave a nonchalant shrug.

‘Always the gentleman,’ Ronan grumbled.

‘Do you guys know what caused it?’ Jo asked from where she was sandwiched between Gerard and Martha. It really wasn’t a cupboard built for five adults.

‘Not a clue,’ Martha replied.

 

After about fifteen minutes the shaking had stopped. Dorian poked his head out of the door.

‘It’s okay guys, the hotel is still standing.’

They piled out of the small cupboard.

‘I still can’t believe all the staff just ran outside.’ Gerard huffed, brushing off his shirt.

‘I doubt anyone’s paid enough to keep working during an earthquake, Ger.’ Jo shrugged.

‘I’m not even sure it was a quake guys,’ Ronan mused, looking outside.

‘What else could it be?’ Martha wondered, joining him by the shattered glass window.

Ronan shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea, but earthquakes just don’t happen in Wales of all places.’

Dorian couldn't help but smirk. ‘Believe me, you’d be surprised at what happens in Wales.’

‘So who’s up for clubbing?’ Gerard grinned, one arm around Jo. ‘We have just survived a freak earthquake after all.’

 

As it turned out, none of them were really in the mood for clubbing after they returned to their hotel rooms. They all just crashed on their beds and slept until morning.

‘So much for our night on the town,’ Jo yawned as the dim Welsh daylight found its way into their room the following morning.

‘I doubt there was much going on out on the town to be honest,’ Ronan sighed, flicking on the apartment TV to  images of Cardiff Bay and the damage caused by what the news was calling a “localised quake” caused by some high pressure gas-pipes below the newly renovated Bay complex.

‘Yeah right,’ Dorian muttered, settling beside Ronan on the sofa.

‘Shall we head down for breakfast then?’ Martha asked, emerging from the bathroom washed and dressed.

 

***

 

Outside on the streets of Cardiff Bay there were Police everywhere. The hotel wasn’t serving breakfast due to damage to the kitchen, so Dorian and the others headed out in search of food.

As they passed the Millenium Centre Dorian noticed that the spot where the TARDIS had stood was cordoned off, the TARDIS now absent.

‘Let’s go take a look.’ Dorian strode up to the yellow cordon, not looking to see if the others had followed him. He crouched under the plastic line at his waist to get a better look at the deep cracks in the paved ground. They all splintered out from the block where the TARDIS had stood. He ran a hand over one of the grooves until a heavy booted foot stepped into his eyeline, accompanied by a strong Welsh accent.

‘Excuse me sir, I’m going to have to ask you to stand back a bit.’

Dorian looked up to meet the eye of a dark haired Police woman with large brown eyes. He caught his breath and his hearts raced. She looked exactly like Gwyneth. But that was impossible, Gwyneth had died nearly 150 years ago in an explosion.

‘Sir?’ she asked again, looking a bit wigged out by Dorian’s staring. He was still crouched on the floor. Slowly, Dorian stood up. He was taller than her by about a head - she was even the same height Gwyneth had been.

'Gwyneth?' He breathed. Her eyes widened a fraction.

'Excuse me?'

'Cooper, could I have a word a second?' A male Police officer called, distracting the woman's attention from Dorian.

'I'll be there now Andy,' she called back, eyeing Dorian carefully as she walked away.

Dorian stood stock still, watching her move away from him. A hand on his shoulder made him jump.

'Dorian? You look like you've seen a ghost.'

Dorian's mind was far away as Jo led him over to where Martha, Ronan and Gerard were standing.

'No, she definitely wasn't a ghost,' he murmured. He cast a look back at the Police woman. She was busy taking a statement from someone in a crowd of onlookers.

'Come on. Breakfast.' Gerard growled, dragging the dazed Dorian away. Ronan understood Dorian's bewilderment, but Martha looked concerned.

 

***

 

Dorian leaned back and sunk into the comfy sofa of his and Ronan's shared flat. It was late November and Dorian had spent the day looking at Christmas decorations.

'Isn't it a bit early to be decorating the flat?' Ronan asked, taking a seat on the sofa opposite Dorian.

'I'm not going to decorate just yet,' Dorian rolled his eyes. 'I'm just looking for the decorations. Now what's on TV?'

Ronan looked carefully at his best friend. He'd just come off a long shift shadowing at the hospital. He and Martha had watched open heart surgery and, thrilling though it was, after it Martha had wanted to talk about Dorian.

'Poirot,' Dorian chuckled. 'He's always on telly. You know, I think someone at ITV3 has a thing for little Belgian detectives.' Dorian winked conspiratorially at Ronan. 'I've not read those books in a while.' He mused, glancing back to Ronan. 'Have you ever read the Poirot books?' Ronan shook his head.

'You should!' Dorian assured him. 'I've got all the Agatha Christie books up there, they're between the Charles Dickens set and the Amelia Williams novels.' He pointed over to the immense book collection on their too small bookshelf.

'I need to talk to you Dorian,' Ronan said bluntly. 'It's about Martha - well, and me - but mostly Martha.'

Dorian muted the TV and peered curiously at Ronan.

'What happens to us?'

Dorian didn't know what he meant. 'I'm sorry?'

'You don't age. You don't grow old like the rest of us do, you just move on. What happens to Martha and Gerard and Jo when you do? What happens to me?' A furrow appeared in Ronan's forehead as he looked away from Dorian.

Dorian sighed, he had thought Ronan would have understood already. 'You carry on living your life, I'll be that friend you just lost touch with I suppose.' Dorian tried not to look back at the people he had befriended over the years. 'You're one of the few who know my secret, so I don't know what you'll do when I do go. You'll probably remember me, but it would be better to forget.'

'But how could I forget? I would have died years ago if I hadn't met you. You literally took a bullet for me when you didn't even know me. How could I forget that?'

'You have to try. As you said, I don't grow old. I've got to keep moving so people don't suspect my secret. I always leave, in the end.'

Dorian remembered Jack telling him about a time when his secret had been found out and he was tortured for days because people thought he was a demon. Sure, that had been early 1900s, but humanity still had the same fear of that which it doesn't understand. 'I thought you said this was about Martha.'

Ronan shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. 'She spoke to me today.'

'I should hope so, you were shadowing the same surgeon after all.' Dorian joked light-heartedly.

Ronan didn't smile. 'She asked me whether you'd said anything to me about your future.'

'Did you tell her that it's bright and orange?'

'Be serious Dorian! Your future together. You know there isn't a future for you and Martha, so what are you doing leading her on like this?' Ronan stood up in frustration, pacing behind the sofa. 'You've been going out for a year or so now - what do you think is going to happen?'

'I don't know,' Dorian answered honestly. 'Any previous relationship I've had I've been called away from, or I've left voluntarily.'

'Or they've died.' Ronan glared.

'That too, thanks for reminding me.'

'Why do you even start a relationship then?' Ronan groaned, exasperated. 'What's the point?'

Dorian chuckled darkly to himself. 'I might be half-Time Lord, but I'm also half-human. Call me selfish, but I don't know how many hundreds of years I'm going to live for, I'd rather not spend all of them alone.'

'But what about those of us left behind?,' Ronan objected, leaning on the back of the sofa. 'How do you think we feel when you go?'

'You think I don't feel the same pain?' Dorian stood and looked Ronan in the eye. 'I feel it every single time I say goodbye to a friend. Knowing that while they go on with their lives, I won't be able to see them again because they'll remember me. Hell, I didn't know I had a son until a few months ago and now he's an old man, and I can't even tell him who I am! I enter people's lives and leave.

'I remember nearly everything I've experienced, all 200 years of it. In comparison, the pain you humans feel is fleeting. I know why my father is always running: because unlike me, he can get away from this planet. He can forget about the people he's left behind and go on having new adventures across time and space. I have to live through time passing on Earth, slowly and infinitely. I leave people behind because its easier and less painful than staying, watching them grow old, wither, and die. You've seen people in the hospital, too frail to do anything themselves. How would you like to watch anyone you've ever cared about go through that?

'So I will leave when I leave and I'll move on, hoping that you'll at least try to forget. It might not be the easiest thing, but it's definitely the best thing to do. Do you understand what I'm saying?'

Ronan hung his head. 'Yes. Unfortunately I do. But promise me one thing.' He fixed his gaze on Dorian. 'Decide what you're going to do about Martha before you give her the wrong idea and hurt her.'

Dorian nodded solemnly. 'I promise.'

 


	13. The Christmas Invasion

 

_**24th December, 2006** _

Dorian loved Christmas. It was his favourite time of year. He loved hearing the cheery music playing from cafes and shops as he made his way to work. Brass bands in every square, carol singers on every corner - Dorian dropped some coins in every case and hat he came across, content with good wishes and a smile in return.

He was already awake and bustling about the empty flat when Christmas Eve dawned on the chilly city of London. Ronan was back in Ireland with his family so Dorian had the flat to himself for most of the Christmas holiday. As Dorian had nothing else to be doing over Christmas he had volunteered to help out at the hospital which was sure to be understaffed over the festive season. Martha had offered for Dorian to stay with her and her family, but that had been before Dorian had ended their relationship. He doubted that the invitation was still open now. Nevertheless, he was content to be on his own.

Slade blared from Dorian's iPod as he bustled about the kitchen making himself some breakfast. He ate it while he watched the early morning news. The main story was still the Guinevere One space probe that the Government had launched recently. Everything was going to plan, experts assured them, and photos of the surface of Mars were expected early Christmas morning.

 

Shrugging into his long thick coat and wrapping a scarf around his neck, Dorian set off on a detoured walk to the hospital. Every morning of Christmas week Dorian would divert to walk past Buckingham Palace to buy a paper from Wilfred Mott. Dorian had known Wilf since late World War Two, when the underaged Private had ended up under Dorian's command. Dorian didn't see him again for another forty years, until Wilf's granddaughter had been brought into the hospital Dorian was working at in need of stitches. Dorian had gotten away with being recognised by claiming to be the grandson of Captain Smith. Twenty-something more years later they had met again, and Dorian was convinced that Wilf didn’t buy his story about being Dr. Smith’s son, nevertheless, they were fast friends.

'Morning Wilf!' Dorian greeted as he approached the little newspaper stand beside the Palace gates.

'And a very good morning it is sir!' Wilf smiled back. His hands were wrapped up in thick red woollen mittens, with a scarf at his neck and a hat on his head to match. The areas of his face not covered by white-haired stubble, namely his cheeks and large nose, were rosy from the chill.

'Any sight of Her Majesty this morning?' Dorian asked, picking up a newspaper and dropping some more money into Wilf's bucket.

'Not today,' Wilf sighed. 'But there's the rest of the day ahead of us sonny.'

Dorian flicked through the paper finding nothing new that he hadn't seen on the TV that morning. 'What d'you think about this space probe they've sent up?'

'Good luck to 'em, that's what I say.' Wilf nodded. 'But there's gonna be trouble from it, mark my words. You don't go sendin' beeping machines up there without gettin' an earful from next door.'

Dorian chuckled, about to ask who "next door" was, but he was interrupted by a loud and instantly recognisable shout.

'Oi! Haven't you got a job to be going to?'

Dorian smirked, turning to face Wilf's granddaughter. 'Donna!'

Donna smothered him in a big hug, reaching up on her tip-toes to embrace him.

'How are you Donna?' Dorian asked when the red head finally let him go.

'Not too bad, just going mad in the house with Mum.' She shrugged, wrapped up in a thick coat, scarf and bobble hat. 'I brought you a thermos Gramps.'

'You're a darling,' Wilf chuckled, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

‘Any plans for tonight?’ Dorian asked, closing the paper with a flick.

‘A few drinks with the girls, you know how it is,’ Donna grinned. ‘I bet you’re working all day like the boring sod you are.’

Dorian chuckled and nodded, feigning embarrassment. ‘You got me! Spending my day helping people - it’s just so dull.’

Wilf poked Donna with the corner of a paper. ‘Leave ‘im alone you, come and sit down.’

Donna unfolded a stool and plonked herself down beside her Grandad.

'As always, thanks for the paper Wilf, I'd best get to work now.' Dorian excused himself with a wave. 'See you tomorrow!'

Wilf and Donna waved back as Dorian set off for the hospital. As he strolled along the winding pavements of the city, Dorian considered Wilf's warning about the space probe, wondering if any of the billion alien civilisations out there had noticed the noisy little box hovering above the blue-green planet Earth.

 

***

 

He banished all thoughts of aliens and space probes as he made his way through the glass doors of the Royal Hope Hospital to start his day. First, he changed into scrubs in the locker room, lending a spare stethoscope to Tony, a fellow medical student volunteer, who had misplaced his own. Then he chatted to a few nurses to find out what needed to be done. He spent most of the morning doing ward rounds and checking observations on patients.

One of Dorian's favourite patients, an elderly patient woman named Mrs Prentice, gossiped with Dorian about her son while he checked her blood pressure. After this, he helped serve lunch around the wards. Tony found him again as he was signing off a change of IV fluids for Mr Owen, a comatose patient in a separate ward. They got lunch themselves shortly after, relaxing over a sandwich and coffee in the staff lounge area.

 

Dorian had a text from Gerard asking how his holiday shift was going. He and Jo were visiting Jo's parents in Southampton for the holiday. Sending a quick reply back, Dorian turned his attention to the news on TV.

‘Prime Minister!’ One of the journalists called to Harriet Jones. ‘What about those calling the Guinevere One space probe a waste of money?’

‘Now that’s where you’re wrong.’ Jones replied, polite as ever. ‘I completely disagree if you don’t mind. The Guinevere One space probe represents this country’s limitless ambition - British workmanship, sailing up there among the stars.’

The news report cut to a conference with Daniel Llewellyn, a small bearded Welshman who was the Guinevere Project Manager.

‘This is the spirit of Christmas, birth and rejoicing, and the dawn of a new age. And that is what we’re achieving 50 million miles away - our very own miracle.’

A recorded computer generated image of the probe descending to the surface of Mars played, telling its viewers that pictures from the surface would be expected at midnight. Dorian drained his coffee and turned to talk to Tony and some of the other holiday staff.

 

***

 

It was midnight and Dorian was due to finish his shift in an hour, but rather than being drained after a sixteen hour shift, he felt as perky as usual because it was Christmas Day! He pinched a Santa hat from beside a nurses station and wandered around completing his list of jobs with it on. A lot of patients were still awake, watching the space probe news: there had been a bit of a kerfuffle when contact was lost with the probe earlier that evening.

Dorian caught a bit of a newscast when he popped into Mrs Prentice’s ward.

‘Scientists in charge of Britain’s mission to Mars have re-established contact with the Guinevere One space probe.’ The news reader announced. ‘They’re expecting the first transmission from the planet’s surface in the next few minutes.’ Interest across the ward peaked and one of the patients asked Dorian to turn the volume up a bit.

Mr Llewellyn was back on screen assuring journalists that the project was back on schedule: ‘The Mars Landing would seem to be an unqualified success.’

However the journalists weren’t going to let him get away with it that easily: ‘Is it true that you completely lost contact early tonight?’

‘Yes, we had a bit of a scare.’ Mr Llewellyn stuttered. ‘Guinevere seemed to fall off the scope, but i-it was just a blip - only disappeared for a f-few seconds. She is fine now, absolutely fine. We’re getting the first pictures transmitted live any minute now. I’d better get back to it. Thanks.’

‘It’s very exciting isn’t it!’ Mrs Prentice clapped her frail hands together. The ward was abuzz with theories about what the Martian landscape would look like.

The news fed into the Guinevere Space Probe link and the screen hissed with static.

‘Odd sort of rocks, aren’t they.’ Mr Bull wheezed, adjusting his position on his bed.

Dorian took a step closer to the TV. ‘They’re not rocks.’ He murmured.

‘...transmitted via Mission Control,’ the TV informed them. ‘And it’s coming live from the depths of space on Christmas morning.’

The static shifted and the thing they had taken to be a rock shot forward towards the screen, growling. Dorian jumped backwards in shock, as did most of the patients on the ward, causing them to almost fall from their beds.

 

It was chaos across the hospital. The entire building was awake discussing the alien face on the news. BBC One was on every TV in every ward, nurses station and staffroom. You couldn’t move without seeing the excited and frenzied faces of those in charge of the space probe mission.

Dorian and the rest of the volunteer staff were running about trying to get the more lively patients back into bed, and to calm down the more frightful patients. There was talk of the alien faces being merely a hoax played by students with prosthetic masks who had hacked into the probe’s camera feed. But Dorian wasn’t convinced.

‘If it is a hoax,’ Tony was excitedly telling a group of nurses as Dorian walked past. ‘Then the aliens we saw might not actually be from Mars.’

‘Of course not,’ Dorian butted in. ‘Martians look completely different.’

That got a good few chuckles, though Dorian was being completely serious. His phone buzzed as he headed to his next job. It was Jack.

‘Dorian, it’s Jack. You’re on speaker with the team.’

‘What’s the news?’ he asked.

‘We’re on the way down to London now,’ Jack informed him. ‘We’ve got access to the UNIT database. They’re receiving a clip from the probe now.’

‘What’s on the screen?’ Dorian asked as he grabbed a pile of notes.

‘Four of the aliens they showed before. They look like they’re going to burst into Bohemian Rhapsody right now.’ Dorian chuckled at the image. ‘We’ve got some translation software going as we speak. How’s it going with the translation Tosh?’ Jack asked away from the phone.

Dorian could hear the alien language through the speaker. It wasn’t one that he had heard before at UNIT or Torchwood, nor could he recall it from the flashbacks he often got from his father’s point of view.

‘Nothing yet Jack,’ the sound of frantic typing accompanied Toshiko’s reply.

‘Call me back if you get anything Jack,’ Dorian said. ‘I’m still at the hospital and I doubt I’ll be leaving anytime soon with all this going on.’

With Jack’s assurances that he would call back the moment they had a development, Dorian hung up and resumed his work. He glanced up at a TV screen and caught the end of a news bulletin.

‘Speaking strictly off the record,’ the reporter said gravely, ‘government sources are calling this our longest night.’

 

Dorian was still at the hospital, long after his shift was due to finish, when his phone rang again. It was Jack, with news of translation.

‘It’s still in progress at the moment,’ Toshiko warned Dorian, ‘but we’ve got most of it.’

‘What are they saying?’ Dorian asked, shutting himself in a linen closet so he wouldn’t be disturbed.

‘The first part says “people” or maybe cattle, “you belong to us”.’

‘That doesn’t sound good.’

‘“To the Sycorax” that’s their name, not Martians. “We own you, we now possess your land, your minerals, your precious stones. You will surrender or they will die”.’

‘They?’ Dorian questioned. ‘Who’s “they”?’

‘We don’t know Dorian,’ Jack answered. ‘But Torchwood isn’t going to like a threat like that, and you can bet Torchwood One’s involved by now.’

Dorian nodded. ‘Ms Hartman’s probably already got the staff on red alert.’

‘There’s more Jack,’ Tosh interrupted. ‘“Sycorax strong, Sycorax mighty, Sycorax rock!”’

‘Rock?’

‘Yes, as in the modern sense “rock”.’ Dorian wondered at the use of the word. ‘UNIT’s sending a reply!’ Tosh hissed. ‘They’re saying “this is a day of peace on planet Earth. We extend that peace to the Sycorax”.’

‘Who’s betting they don’t accept that peace?’ Dr. Owen Harper snickered.

‘There’s more - “This planet is armed and we do not surrender”.’

Dorian sighed as he hung up the phone. This was not going to end well.

 

 


	14. New Earth

Dawn emerged over the unusually quiet city of London. Dorian hadn’t slept a wink since starting his shift almost 24 hours ago, and was just finishing yet another cup of strong black coffee when Jack called again. The Torchwood team were holed up at Dorian’s flat as Jack wanted nothing to do with Torchwood One at that point.

‘We’re getting a response from the Sycorax now,’ Jack said.

Dorian waited expectantly for the translation. It didn’t come. ‘What are they saying? What’s the response?’

‘Uh,’ Jack hesitated. ‘It’s just, it just reached out its hand. There was a blue light. That’s all.’

Dorian deposited his coffee in the bin, sidestepping to avoid bumping into a man stood in the middle of the corridor.

‘What do you mean “a blue light”? What sort of response is that?’

‘I don’t kn- hey! Owen! Where the hell are you going?’

‘Jack?’ Dorian called down the phone. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Owen, he just got up- it’s the same blue light! The same blue light the Sycorax used is around his head!’

Dorian almost walked into yet another patient. He glanced up to apologise and found that the woman had a blue light glowing around her head.

‘Jack, I’ve got to go. The same thing is happening at the hospital.’ He hung up without waiting for a reply.

All over the hospital patients suddenly got out of bed and started walking out of their wards. Members of staff too started leaving the work they were doing and followed the patients out.

‘What’s happening? Where are they going?’ Oliver Morgenstern, another medical student, was asking no one in particular. He was trying to stop one of his patients from leaving the ward. ‘Mrs Giles! You are supposed to be resting in bed. Where are you going? Mrs Giles!’

Dorian was about to go and help him when he spotted Mr Owen, the coma patient from his ward, walking along the corridor dragging his IV drip behind him. Dorian ran across to help carry the man’s drip before it was wrenched out of his arm.

‘Don’t try to stop them!’ Dorian called out, ignoring how impossible it was that a coma patient was suddenly wandering around. ‘You’ll only end up hurting them!’

‘What the devil is happening!’ Mr Stoker, one of the senior consultants and Dorian’s mentor, demanded to know. ‘Smith! Where is that man going? He’s supposed to be in a coma!’

‘You try telling him that sir,’ Dorian replied, opening a door for Mr Owen before the man just walked right into it.

‘Orderlies!’ Stoker called. ‘Keep these doors open.’

All those with the blue light around their heads seemed to be in a sleepwalking state. They showed no response to calling their names, they didn’t even stop of someone was in their way - they just kept on walking. As far as Dorian could tell, they were heading for the stairs. He walked beside Mr Owen in a huddle of zombie-like patients and staff until they reached the very top floor. Many of the patients he saw definitely weren’t fit enough to make the climb up the stairs when conscious, so he figured that whatever the Sycorax had done to these people it was controlling their bodies, not just their minds. Mr Owen was proof of that.

‘They’re heading for the roof!’ Morgenstern yelled. ‘Oh my God! They’re going right to the edge! They’re going to jump!’

When Dorian and Mr Owen emerged out into the sunlight on the roof he found lines of patients stood stock still on the edge of the roof. They didn’t seem to be about to jump, they were just waiting. But for what, Dorian didn’t know.

‘It’s like a warning.’ Mr Stoker muttered to himself. ‘Just waiting there before they jump.’

Dorian scanned the roofs of the surrounding buildings and saw lines of people, standing on the ledges and edges of those buildings.

‘Somebody get the news up here!’ Stoker bellowed. One of the young nurses supplied her iPhone and got a live feed of the BBC news. ‘My God, it’s all over the world!’

Dorian secured Mr Owen’s drip to his gown with his stethoscope before joining Mr Stoker by the door to the roof.

‘News reports estimate one third of the world’s population to be affected by whatever this thing is. That’s nearly two billion people.’

‘But why aren’t we affected?’ Morgenstern asked. ‘Why is it just that third of people?’

‘Smith - find as many notes for these people and gather them in my office. Morgenstern - find whatever staff aren’t needed up here and tell them to find blankets for the patients. I want at least two members of staff on each ward as well. Anyone left over goes to my office to help us figure out what’s so special about these particular patients.’ Dorian and Oliver nodded, bustling off to follow Mr Stoker’s orders.

 

‘So what have we got?’ Stoker asked his office-full of doctors, nurses, students and helpers.

‘It’s difficult to find a pattern here doctor,’ one of the senior nurses said. ‘But we’ve looked at staff profiles and we think that whatever’s going on is to do with their blood.’

One of the younger nurses explained. ‘We checked the profiles of some of the staff and found that their partners who also work here aren’t up on the roof, but then there are some staff with family - brothers, sisters, sons, daughters - who work here and they are up on the roof.’

‘So we have a genetic link. Anything else?’

‘I think I’ve got it!’ A research assistant exclaimed, scanning through a number of patients’ notes. ‘All the people up on the roof have the same blood type - A positive!’

‘What’s so special about that blood group?’ Morgenstern asked.

‘I have no idea.’ Stoker replied. ‘But now we know why it’s only these people on the roof. Okay everyone, back to work - remember we’ve still got two thirds of the hospital not on the roof.’

Dorian was just about to leave with the crowd of staff when Harriet Jones appeared on the little TV in Stoker’s office.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, if I may take a moment during this terrible time. It’s hardly the Queen’s speech, I’m afraid that’s been cancelled.’ The Prime Minister turned to someone off-screen. ‘Did we ask about the Royal Family?’ A pause. ‘Oh, they’re on the roof.’

Harriet Jones took a deep breath before continuing. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, this crisis is unique, and I’m afraid to say it might get much worse. I would ask you all to remain calm. But I have one request: Doctor,’ Dorian stiffened. ‘If you’re out there, we need you. I don’t know what to do. If you can hear me, Doctor, if anyone knows the Doctor, if anyone can find him - the situation has never been more desperate. Help us.’

Dorian leaned his head against the cool glass of the window. ‘Please Doctor, help us.’

‘Who does she mean?’ Morgenstern asked. ‘What doctor?’

‘I don’t kn-’ Stoker began to reply, but was cut off when all the windows over the hospital shattered.

Dorian staggered away from the window as it burst, covering his head with his hands to stop the glass fragments cutting at his face.

‘What the-!’ They heard screams from the wards nearby. More distant shattering of surrounding buildings. Dorian left the office with Morgenstern and Stoker close behind, they sprinted up to the roof and emerged into the light just in time to witness a gigantic volcanic-looking spaceship passing overhead.

‘It must have been a sonic wave,’ Dorian muttered. ‘That’s what caused the windows to shatter.’

They watched with horror and fascination as the ship hovered over Downing Street.

 

Back inside the hospital Dorian was trying to help calm down patients, and it seemed that the best way to do that was to keep a constant supply of tea. He was just taking a tray of tea up to the roof when he heard screams from above. Setting the tea down on a windowsill, Dorian leapt up the last flight of stairs and burst out onto the roof.

All the people who had been controlled seemed to have snapped out of it. The staff who had stayed on the roof were attempting to calm people down and direct them back inside. Dorian made his way through the crowd and found Tony holding up the once more unconscious Mr Owen.

‘Give us a hand with him, Smith,’ Tony gasped. Together they carried Mr Owen between them until one of the orderlies turned up with a stretcher.

‘What brought them back though?’ Tony wondered as they leaned against a wall of the stairwell. Dorian shrugged.

 

***

 

Dorian was finally back at home in his flat after one of the most interesting shifts he had ever worked. The Torchwood team were still sat around on the sofa explaining to Owen what had happened while he was up on the roof.

A loud rumbling disturbed their discussion and the four of them ran outside in time to see the mighty Sycorax ship flying away back into space.

‘Yeah! Good riddance!’ Owen cheered with Tosh. They watched the ship go until it was merely a speck in the sky. Then, without warning, a spark of neon green appeared from nowhere in the sky. Then another, and another, until five spikes of green laser joined up over central London, arching up into space.

‘What’s happening?’ Tosh asked.

‘Torchwood’s retaliation.’ Dorian murmured, watching the sky above bloom with white.

Jack’s vortex manipulator that he always wore on his wrist started going berserk. Distracted, Jack started to follow the signal to a shaded corner of the street. Dorian, Tosh and Owen followed him.

It was a broadsword with a two-handed grip, about as tall as Dorian’s body, embedded in the pavement. But the sword wasn’t what Jack’s technology was picking up. Lying beside the sword was a severed hand.

‘Is that a hand?’ Tosh turned away, looking like she was going to be sick.

Jack scanned the limb with his vortex manipulator. ‘Yes! Aha! I knew it!’ Jack looked positively overjoyed at what the manipulator had told him. He seized the hand and jumped for joy.

‘What’s so great about the hand Jack?’ Dorian asked.

‘It’s his! It’s the Doctor’s hand!’ Dorian’s stomach rolled at the thought. He also remembered Harriet Jones’ plea to The Doctor earlier that day, obviously he had listened.

‘My father’s lost his hand?’ Dorian didn’t understand how that was good news.

‘No! Well yes, obviously he did, but this hand is full of regeneration energy - that’s what the vortex manipulator was picking up - so he should have been able to grow another one!

‘But why are you so happy about the hand?’ Owen asked.

‘Because I can use it to find the Doctor!’ Jack hugged and kissed each of the three of them before hiding the hand in his coat pocket and practically skipping back to the flat.

 

***

 

‘Prime Minister, is it true you’re no longer fit to be in position?’ A journalist asked. Dorian and the three Torchwood Three team members were sat in front of the TV for Christmas Dinner, watching the news, with a turkey roast cooking in the oven.

‘No, now can we talk about other things?’ Harriet Jones replied curtly. The question “Unfit for duty?” subtitling the report.

‘Is it true you’re unfit for office?’ Another journalist asked.

‘Look, there is nothing wrong with my health!’ Jones insisted. ‘I don’t know where these stories are coming from. And a vote of no confidence is completely unjustified.’

‘Are you going to resign?’ Another voice asked.

‘On today of all days I’m fine. Look at me - I’m fine, I look fine, I feel fine.’ She did look a bit haggard though.

‘Is that snow?’ Tosh asked, staring out of the window.

Dorian considered the white flakes descending from the sky. ‘No, it’s ash, bits of the Sycorax ship disintegrating in the atmosphere.’

‘Nice to know misery-guts.’ Owen muttered dryly.

Dorian, however, was lost in thoughts of the future. It was a new Earth, everyone knew there were aliens out there now. Somehow he just didn’t feel right just going on with his life as though nothing had happened. But then, what else was he supposed to do?

 

***

 

It was New Year’s Eve and Dorian was all packed. Ronan would be back in a week, so it was best for Dorian to be long gone by then. He carefully loaded all his belongings into the back of his car. The portrait of The Doctor perched on top of the collected works of Agatha Christie. All of Dorian’s clothes were packed neatly into a suitcase, all bar the dark suit he was wearing.

With one last look back at the inside of the empty flat, and the letter to Ronan on the kitchen counter beside his key, Dorian closed the door of the flat and didn’t look back.

He made his way slowly through the city centre until he reached the Tower of London. A red capped UNIT guard approached Dorian’s car and tapped on the window.

‘Can I see your ID, sir?’ the guard asked.

Dorian slipped his old ID card from his pocket and showed the guard. ‘Commander Smith. I’ve come to get my job back.’

 

 


	15. The Seeds of Doom

 

‘Commander Dorian Smith.’ Colonel Emily Chaudry, the head of the British division of the Unified Intelligence Taskforce, peered over the top of a rather old and thick ring-bound file in her oak-panelled office in the Tower of London. ‘A UNIT operative since 1976, you resigned from your position ten years ago in 1997 because, in your own words, you were “unhappy with the revised mandate of UNIT”. Now you’re back for your job. Am I understanding the situation correctly Commander?’

‘Yes ma’am.’ Dorian nodded at the blonde stern-faced woman. She was in her late forties and had only recently come into her position following the death of Colonel Dalton, her predecessor, two years ago.

‘What changed your mind?’

‘Christmas ma’am.’ Dorian replied. ‘I realised that it was pointless of me to try and live a normal civilian life when I could do more to help here at UNIT. At Christmas I realised that my father - you are aware of who my father is?’

Colonel Chaudry nodded. ‘The Doctor. Yes, we’ve met a few times.’

‘Yes ma’am. Christmas was an example of the reality that he won’t always be around to save this planet. Humanity needs to step up and be able to defend themselves from whatever threats alien life may pose, but also to negotiate with alien life to avoid global bloodshed. We need to be able to do the Doctor’s job ourselves so that when he isn’t there to save us we can still survive. That is what I want to help UNIT do.’

The Colonel’s face remained impassive throughout Dorian’s speech. When he had finished she carefully closed Dorian’s file and leaned forward.

‘Good to hear. Welcome back Commander,’ she smiled, reaching a hand out to shake Dorian’s. ‘I’ll have Human Resources reinstate your full security clearance and someone from the Science Division will brief you on your duties with them.’

‘Thank you ma’am,’ Dorian made to stand up, thinking that his initial meeting with the new boss of UNIT was much shorter than he had expected.

‘A few more things if you will, Commander Smith.’ Chaudry placed her elbows on the desk and steepled her fingers, looking intently at Dorian.

Dorian sat back down.

‘As I said, you resigned from your position and your rank ten years ago. Yet four years ago you requested the release of one of UNIT’s prisoners using your authority as a Commander.’

Colonel Chaudry was referring to the release of Toshiko Sato, now of Torchwood Three. ‘I did ma’am.’

‘And only last year you tried to use your influence to gain information about the supposed alien invasion that destroyed Downing Street.’

‘I did ma’am.’

‘You realise that when you resign from your rank you are supposed to lose the privileges assigned to that rank, do you not?’

‘I do ma’am, I fully expected it to happen at the time.’ Dorian admitted, curious as to why his requests had mostly been granted.

‘Well luckily for you, Brigadier Bambera decided not to grant you your full resignation but put you on an extended leave of absence.’ Chaudry looked sternly at Dorian. ‘You were extremely lucky that the Brigadier had so much confidence in you, but make no mistake that if you resign again under my leadership you will not have the same treatment. Understood?’

‘Yes ma’am. Can I ask why my request to release Miss Sato was granted?’

Chaudry sighed unhappily. ‘Another stroke of luck on your part and a mistake on UNIT’s part, but apparently the mistake has worked out well. Colonel Brimmicombe-Wood was the British Commander of UNIT at the time and also a double agent for the International Counter-Intelligence Service.’ Dorian remembered hearing about the rival agency in the news, but the press-release about it was labelled a hoax so no one took it seriously. ‘The Colonel hoped that Sato’s release, and her subsequent expose about UNIT, would reveal UNIT’s more stringent side, encouraging the government to take action against us. However Sato seems to be smarter than he gave her credit for. She hasn’t spoken about her imprisonment and is working well with Torchwood Three, according to Captain Harkness.’

Dorian nodded. ‘And the prison?’

‘For high security cases, not frightened technicians.’ Chaudry assured him. ‘Are you still in contact with Captain Harkness?’

‘Yes ma’am.’

‘Good. No doubt your shared experiences with immortality keep you in touch.’ Chaudry smiled. ‘Though in future UNIT might ask you to reinstate your links with Torchwood One in addition to Torchwood Three.’

Dorian understood.

‘One last thing: try to keep the identity of your father as low-profile as possible, Commander. It wouldn’t do well to have tongues wagging about a half-Time Lord working for us - we never know who might hear of it.’

‘As you wish ma’am.’

‘I believe that is all Commander. I’ve got a meeting with Harold Saxon to get to.’ Chaudry stood up and walked around the desk to Dorian. Dorian quickly stood up again, recognising that he was dismissed. She opened the door of her office to reveal a young UNIT soldier. ‘Private Jenkins will escort you to Human Resources.’

‘Thank you ma’am,’ Dorian saluted, exiting the office and following Private Jenkins into the hallway.

 

‘How long have you been with UNIT, Private?’ Dorian asked the young soldier as he was led through the winding corridors of UNIT to the Human Resources offices.

‘Two years sir,’ Private Jenkins replied. He was a handsome man with light brown hair and full lips, dressed all in black as per the UNIT uniform, his red beret tucked into his belt.

‘And what do you think of it so far?’

‘It’s a great job sir, and good experience. Though things have changed a lot since Christmas of course.’ Jenkins held a door open for Dorian which opened onto a staircase.

‘Changed how?’ Dorian asked as they headed down the steps.

‘Well the world knows about aliens now, even if most people think it was a hoax. Major Blake was killed too, and everyone’s keeping hush-hush about the laser-beams that blew up the Sycorax ship. We all saw it, but i’ve not spoken to anyone who knows where it came from. It certainly wasn’t from UNIT. I’ve got friends working in Broadsword and the Black Archive and they didn’t have anything to do with it. You can feel how tense things have become. It’s almost like we’re expecting another invasion.’

Dorian considered telling Jenkins that it was Torchwood who were responsible for blowing up the Sycorax ship, but then he decided that that wouldn’t be a great way to start his renewed UNIT career if Chaudry clearly didn’t want people to know.

‘Here we are, sir.’ Jenkins said, stopping beside a series of glass panelled offices.

‘Thank you, Private,’ Dorian replied with a smile, pushing open one of the doors. ‘Could you tell me where the Science Division is for when I’m finished here?’

‘Lower levels, sir. But Colonel Chaudry said you were to be escorted down there.’

‘She did,’ Dorian smiled as the Private walked away. Dorian slipped into the Human Resources office and looked around. A tall red haired woman in a navy blue skirt and white blouse made her way over to Dorian.

‘Commander Smith? I’m Patricia, Assistant-Chief of Human Resources, if you could just follow me.’ She led him over to her office in the left corner of the room.

Dorian took a seat in the chair opposite Patricia’s desk.

‘Can I get you a drink, Commander?’ Patricia asked, indicating the kettle in the corner of the office. ‘This is going to take a while.’

 

***

 

Two hours later Dorian was finally free of Patricia in the Human Resources offices. There had been a large volume of painstaking electronic paperwork to get through, numerous signatures required, the Official Secrets Act in triplicate, a host of other secretive contracts, fingerprinting, assessment of Dorian’s previous records checked and confirmed, a briefing about what is expected of him as an officer and what he can expect, measurements for his uniform, yet more paperwork, and finally, delivery of his uniform by a junior worker requiring one last signature and he was free.

Armed with his new ID card and in his brand new UNIT uniform Dorian didn’t fancy waiting for his escort to the Science Department, so Dorian made his way back to the staircase and headed down to the lower levels, his new boots creaking as he wore them in.

 

No one questioned Dorian as he wandered down to the lower levels of UNIT HQ. Whether that was due to his new uniform or the three golden stripes of his Commander rank, Dorian couldn't be sure. But it made things easier nevertheless.

He reached a security locked door labelled "Science Division" and scanned his new card. Dorian got a cheap thrill when the door light flashed green, granting him entrance.

The inside of the Science Division floor was mostly an open space with a few desks laden with wires and computer screens, microscopes ranging in magnification lined the lab tables on the walls, and every now and then something in an unseen room off the main deck would explode with a loud CRACK!

As Dorian took in his surroundings a blonde woman strode over to him.

'Commander Smith I presume?' The woman asked. 'I'm Dr Kate Stewart. Pleasure to meet you.'

'Likewise,' Dorian smiled, shaking Dr Stewart's hand.

'Isn't Malcolm with you?' She asked, peering behind Dorian.

'Who?'

'Dr Taylor, he was supposed to meet you and bring you down. How did you get here if Malcolm isn't with you?'

Dorian shrugged, 'I just made my own way down.'

'Well never mind then,' Dr Stewart dismissed. 'If he's not back soon I'll send someone after him. In the meantime let me show you around our department.'

Dorian followed the doctor as she moved away from him, explaining what the Science Division actually did.

 

***

 

'Ah, Malcolm! There you are.' Dr Stewart called over to a small bespectacled man in a blue checked shirt and beige trousers. She and Dorian had just returned to the main floor after visiting the research and physics departments. 'I'd like you to meet Commander Dorian Smith.'

'Pleasure to meet you!' Malcolm beamed excitedly, shaking Dorian's hand. 'I've read your file, excellent stuff! Great to meet you!'

Dorian didn't know what to make of the excitable scientist. 'Sorry about wandering off earlier.' He apologised.

'Not a problem at all sir!' Malcolm shook his head, still clinging to Dorian's hand.

'Well if you're finished taking his arm off, Malcolm, maybe you could help settle Dr Smith in.' Dr Stewart suggested with an amused raise of her eyebrows.

Malcolm reluctantly let go of Dorian's hand. 'Yes, of course. I'll show you what I'm working on now!'

He bustled over to a cluttered desk and shifted a sheaf of blueprints off his keyboard.

'We've got the most advanced computer software here and it's all directly linked to UNIT's satellite feed for the tracking and analysis of data from suspected UFOs.' Malcolm told Dorian. 'I've been monitoring London since Christmas, out of interest you know, and just last week my scanners picked up a massive range of UFO activity in East London. So far I've logged 43 sightings from reports of lights in the sky by locals and matched their coordinates with the data from the satellites. It all seems to be focused around this one school. Most unusual.' Malcolm tapped away at the keyboard and the image on screen shifted to give a view of each of the suspected UFOs.

Dorian leaned in for a closer look. The UFOs were all merely blurred lights on the screen, but they did all seem to be congregating around a complex of school buildings.

'Do you have any idea why any UFOs would be surrounding this school in particular?'

'Not the foggiest, I'm afraid.' Malcolm shrugged, taking off his glasses to clean them. 'There isn't even anything unusual about the school that I can pick up.' He replaced his glasses and tapped a few more keys, bringing up an image of the school. 'Deffry Vale High School. It's not fantastic academically but it's not terrible either. The only bit of news it's got is the new Headmaster who's planning on "raising the school's academic profile and shaking things up".' Malcolm sighed and turned to Dorian. 'It's probably a dead end, but there's nothing else in the area of the sightings.'

Dorian considered how the lights of the UFOs were all centred around the school. 'Have you put the school forward for monitoring?' After the school, Jack had said. Could he have meant this school? And after what?

'Do you think I should?' Malcolm asked, wide eyed. 'It might just be nothing.'

'But it might also be something.' Dorian countered. 'Besides, if it does turn out to be nothing there's no harm done - you're just being cautious. Whereas if it is something and you do nothing...'

He left his point hanging in the air.

Malcolm nodded, his mind made up. 'You're right. There's no harm in being cautious. I'll send it up to surveillance now.'

'Good man!' Dorian clapped the scientist on the back. 'Got anything else you're working on?'

 


	16. Four to Doomsday

 

The days passed quickly working for UNIT. Rarely a day went by when some strange thing didn’t need investigating, and for the first time since the days of Brigadier (now General) Lethbridge-Stewart the Science Division were requested on all teams.

Dorian took part in raids on gang warehouses where reports of alien tech were proved right. The tech was then boxed up and sent back to the Tower for Dorian and the team to investigate. If they found something useful, like they did with an extremely lightweight ream of fabric that was tougher than Kevlar, they sent it down the line to the Research and Application teams who then attempted to find further uses for the tech.

 

But Dorian’s life away from work wasn’t nearly as exciting. He had cut off all contact with his friends from the hospital, and after being plagued by phone calls from Ronan, Martha, Gerard and Jo, he had changed his phone number.

The most exciting thing he had done was to go and visit Wilf and Donna on the hill where they went stargazing. He was quite content to hear Donna rabbiting on at a hundred miles per hour about how bored she was with her job at the double-glazing firm, and Wilf’s unhappiness at having to move into his daughter’s house. But then he inevitably had to go back to his new home at Woolwich Army Barracks for an early start the next day and it wasn’t long before Dorian was drifting off to sleep, dreaming of the same memory that had been plaguing him since Malcolm had mentioned the UFOs over the school.

 

***

__

_**September, 1914** _

‘Incoming!’ Dorian lurched forward with Jennings, his wounded comrade slung over his shoulder. The ground shook as a German bomb made contact one hundred metres away. It was the time of the Great War, which would later be known as World War I, and Dorian was a young Captain in the British Army.

He was plastered with days of mud, sweat and blood, squelching through French fields littered with corpses, heading for the relative safety of a checkpoint. His comrade, Jennings, needed urgent help; he was losing a lot of blood through the gash on his leg, he couldn’t walk and the wound was likely to be infected. Dorian had done as much as he could to bandage it up, but his medical supply kit was running low already.

Up ahead he saw another two men, one supporting the other. Dorian heard the dreaded whistle of an incoming shell. He dived to the side and landed in a puddle of mud, taking Jennings with him. Jennings groaned but at least he was still conscious. The bomb hit and the impact made Dorian’s teeth rattle, but he and Jennings avoided the main shock hidden in their ditch.

Back on his feet, trudging on, Dorian heaved Jennings back over his shoulder. He was heavy, but Dorian could do it. He kept going.

After what seemed like an age, Dorian and Jennings made it to the checkpoint. Less than half of his company had arrived there already, all mixed in with other battalions that had arrived to reinforce them.

‘Smith!’ they called, patting him on the back or on his helmet. He smiled back, relieved to have made it without being killed once. He made his way down the narrow trench walls to the medic post. He and Jennings sat on upturned boxes while they waited with two others for the doctor to finish with his current patient. In the distance they could still hear the dull explosions of the shelling. Dorian noticed that he was being watched.

He looked up to find a thin blond boy staring at him with unusual concentration. He was probably one of the young conscripts. He barely looked eighteen.

Dorian tried to ignore him.

The doctor came and took the boy’s friend away to be treated. Now it was only the three of them. The boy was still staring. Dorian’s curiosity overcame him.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked.

‘I’ve seen you before,’ the boy said.

Dorian shrugged, ‘Probably, there’s a lot of us around,’

‘That’s not what I meant. You know him don’t you? The Doctor, you know him.’

A shiver crept up Dorian’s spine; there was something unnerving about the intensity of the boy’s gaze.

‘Not exactly, no,’ he replied.

‘I’ve seen you. In the watch.’ Dorian had no idea what the boy was talking about. There were so many questions Dorian wanted to ask.

‘Who are you?’ he settled on.

‘Latimer. Timothy Latimer.’

‘And how do you know the Doctor?’

The story that Timothy Latimer told him there in that small little box of a room in the trenches of World War I was unbelievable. He told Dorian of the Doctor and his companion being chased through time by a family of aliens. He told him of a watch that held the Doctor’s Time Lord consciousness while he was disguised as John Smith, a human school teacher. The visions Latimer had seen when he opened the watch were incredible, and he saw Dorian in one of them.

‘You looked just like you do now, but you were in a cobbled alley facing the Doctor and a blonde girl. You were out of breath, doubled over, but he asked you something and you stood up. You said,’ Latimer screwed up his face in concentration, trying to recall what it was Dorian had said. ‘You said: “I’m your son.” That’s right isn’t it? You’re the Doctor’s son?’

 

***

 

It was nearly twelve o'clock on a sunny day in late March, and Dorian was just finishing up an analysis report of an unknown skin sample a team had retrieved in a recent caving expedition in the Alps, when Malcolm came bursting into the workroom.

'You were right!'

'About what?' Dorian asked, spinning in his chair to face the flustered man.

'The school! The surveillance team just called in - there's some commotion going on and they're sending an incident team in! Come on, you're coming with me!'

'To the school? Why me?' Dorian grabbed his jacket, his report forgotten.

'Because you're the one who told me to report it, and now something is definitely going on! Isn't it exciting?'

 

Two minutes later Malcolm, Dorian and two computer techies Kopp and Jones (their first names were both Mike), were piling into a UNIT command jeep and reading through the case file on Deffry Vale High School.

'Everybody in, sir?' Private Jenkins asked from the driver's seat. 'Got all your equipment?'

'Yes, thank you Jenkins,' Malcolm assured him as the engine roared to life.

'Better be off then.' Jenkins said, twisting the steering wheel and pulling out of the UNIT gates after another jeep.

According to the case file, UFOs weren't the only unusual thing going on at the school. There were several reports of staff and pupils going off sick, an influx of new teachers and dinner ladies, and one teacher who mysteriously won the lottery despite claiming that she hadn't bought the ticket.

The radio crackled and Private Jenkins adjusted the frequency and volume. 'All units, the status of Deffry Vale High has now been upgraded to level five. Repeat, level five. Over.'

'Level five?' Jones asked.

'Level five means that there's been an explosion.' Dorian explained, wondering what the hell they were going to.

'How far away is the school, Private?' Malcolm asked.

'Twenty minutes away, sir.'

'Try and make it ten.' Malcolm said, wringing his hands. They watched as the jeep in front set off its sirens.

 

Sure enough they arrived on site at the school in just over ten minutes, Private Jenkins proving that he was more than capable of driving a loaded jeep through the winding roads of East London.

They parked up in the school car park and began setting up their monitoring equipment in a hastily erected tent in the corner. Local police were already on the scene trying to keep the children away from the smoking school behind a cordoned line, and fire crews were hosing down the cafeteria building.

Dorian went back to the jeep to grab the rest of the equipment, passing Lieutenant-Colonel Pearce in a shouting match with a Police Constable on his way.

'Your men are quite welcome to stay, Constable, providing they keep back and don't interfere with my team.' Pearce told the man who unwisely tried to answer back. 'If you want to argue your case I'll get Mr Saxon down here right away, if not pipe down and let us do our job.'

The Constable was left spluttering half sentences as Pearce strode away, already on the radio.

'Excuse me,' a small voice said beside Dorian. Dorian stood up from where he was wiring up the E.M.F. amplifier to find a young schoolboy beside him.

'How did you get past the cordon?' Dorian asked incredulously. The plump boy was about chest-height on Dorian, with glasses and gelled-up hair.

'I snuck under while they weren't looking.' He shrugged. 'I know what happened here.'

Dorian crouched down. 'And what is that?'

'It was aliens.' The boy said. 'The teachers were aliens, so was Mr Finch. And they had drugged the chips. Honestly, that's what happened.'

Dorian looked around and then back to the boy. 'What's your name?'

'Kenny.'

'Okay Kenny,' Dorian said, bringing over another fold out chair. 'I'll need you to tell me everything.'

 

While the UNIT troops and the local firemen ensured that the school buildings were safe once more, Kenny explained to Dorian about how the new teachers were all bat people who had brought in oil on the chips that made the children smarter. Dorian stopped him for a moment and suggested to Malcolm that they get some blood samples from a few students and search the cafeteria for any oil traces.

'All the oil was destroyed in the explosion,' Kenny said. 'Mr Smith said so.'

'Mr Smith?' Dorian asked immediately.

'The new physics teacher.'

'And what did Mr Smith look like, Kenny?'

Kenny shrugged. 'Tall, brown hair, brown suit, quite skinny.'

Dorian knew exactly who Mr Smith was, and he was certainly not a physics teacher. He picked up his radio and contacted Lieutenant Colonel Pearce.

'Sir, can we get hold of any CCTV footage in the school? Suspected Code Zero. Over.'

He paused a moment while the radio crackled. Then Pearce's voice: 'I'll get a team on it. Out.'

'Kenny, did Mr Smith say what the bat people wanted the children for?'

Kenny shook his head. 'It was something to do with the computers. When I went to try and get everyone out all the other kids were in the computer room for extra classes and there were these green symbols on all the screens. I think they were trying to break some sort of code.'

Dorian scribbled down a note. 'Thank you Kenny, I think that's all.'

The boy made to get up, but Dorian had one more question: 'Why weren't you affected by the oil?'

'I'm on a special diet.' Kenny explained. 'My mum didn't want me eating chips.'

'A wise woman. Too many chips are bad for you.' Dorian smiled. 'Thanks again Kenny.'

 

Once Kenny had snuck back under the police cordon, Dorian found Malcolm in another tent taking blood samples from a small queue of schoolkids.

'How's it going here, Professor Taylor?' Dorian asked.

'Ah, Dr Smith, it's nice of you to join me. My phlebotomy skills are a little bit rusty, but otherwise okay.' Malcolm admitted, removing a needle from its sterile casing. 'I've got two samples on ice already, and once I've got samples from these last few Private Jenkins is going to take them to the lab for analysis.'

'Great, more paperwork for when we get back.' Dorian said, pulling on a pair of latex gloves. 'I'd better give you a hand then. I've had a little more recent practice with needles than you.'

He called over the next patient in line. 'What's your name?'

'Milo.' The young boy answered quietly, brushing his mop of blond hair away from his glasses.

'And what's your favourite subject Milo?' Dorian asked, gathering all the equipment he would need to take blood.

'Physics.'

'Good choice, that's my favourite subject too.'

 

The sun was bright above them, beginning its early afternoon descent when they sent Private Jenkins off to the lab with a dozen blood samples on ice. Most of the school children had gone home by then, the remaining few still waiting to be picked up by their parents.

A UNIT team had retrieved a copy of encrypted CCTV footage from the corridor outside the cafeteria, and Kopp and Jones were busy trying to access the footage in the tech tent. Malcolm and Dorian were just about to enter the cafeteria building in search of anything unusual when Jones called them back.

'We cracked it sirs, come and take a look.'

The footage wasn't great quality, but it showed enough. Lieutenant Colonel Pearce was also looking over the footage.

'That's the Doctor alright.' Dorian pointed to the screen. 'And Rose Tyler with him.'

'And the other woman is Sarah Jane Smith.' Malcolm added. 'Though I thought she had stopped travelling with him years ago.'

'Who's the man and the boy?' Pearce asked.

'The boy is Kenny, he's the one I interviewed earlier, sir.' Dorian answered. 'And I think the man is Tyler's boyfriend, his name is Ricky, or something.'

'Well, as we're not likely to get hold of The Doctor or his current companions,' Pearce said. 'I'll send someone to interview Miss Smith about what happened. And until we get that statement I think we've done all we can here. Pack everything up and let's get back to base.'

 

 


	17. Father's Day

'And where are you off to all suited up?' Dorian asked Malcolm when he emerged from the bathroom attempting to straighten his tie.

'Meeting with Torchwood,' he replied, picking some fluff off his jacket. 'Kate's coming too. We've not been told what it's about though. It's all very mysterious.'

Dorian chuckled, 'All part of the job.'

'Do you think this is smart enough to wear?' Malcolm asked, letting Dorian see his dark green suit.

'I’m sure it will be fine.' Dorian nodded. 'Maybe you should become an officer, then you wouldn't have to worry about suits.' He indicated his own attire: navy blue trousers, white shirt, black tie, and the gold ringed navy blue jacket on his chair. 'It makes dressing in the morning very simple.'

Malcolm shook his head, 'That would be far too much responsibility. You know, I'm surprised they didn't ask you to go to this meeting, what with your prior experience with Torchwood and all.'

Dorian shrugged. 'You and Kate are more senior to me in the department. You're the best choices.'

'I guess. Have you been to the new Torchwood Tower?'

'No, I stopped actively working for Torchwood years before they started building at Canary Wharf. You'll have to tell me all about it when you get back.'

Malcolm stopped fussing with his suit. 'I think I'm all ready. I'd best be off.'

'Have fun,' Dorian called after him. 'And watch out for Ms Hartman. She's a tough one.'

'Will do!' He called back. 'And you keep out of trouble.'

Dorian chuckled to himself, looking at the stack of files he had to get through that day, expecting that the most trouble he would get into would be getting a paper cut.

But of course the universe doesn't work like that.

Not ten minutes after Malcolm had left the office, Dorian had a page from UNIT Ops - he was needed on a job. Filing his papers away and grabbing his jacket, Dorian was out in the courtyard with Kopp and Jones five minutes later.

'Any idea what we're here for?' Jones asked, laptop case in hand.

'No idea,' Dorian shook his head. 'But Captain Price looks like she does.' He indicated to the female technical officer striding towards them.

'Have you three been briefed yet?' She asked briskly.

'No ma'am,' they answered.

'Our scanners have picked up a series of energy surges at a disused library in Ealing. We're going to check it out.'

'With all due respect ma'am,' Dorian interjected, 'That's a routine scout job. What's so special about this one that requires the three of us?'

Price whipped out a grainy CCTV image of a blond man running from a large green thing.

‘This image was taken from a camera just outside the library not five minutes ago. Clearly an alien life form, which requires a science team on hand.’

‘Do we have any ideas what the alien is? Or who the man is?’ Dorian asked taking the photo from Price.

‘We’ve got people looking into the alien, at the moment the only leads are the similarities between it and the aliens from Downing Street in 2006. As for the male, we’ve got identity software working on it now. As far as we can tell he and a group of others met at the library regularly. We’d better get going.’

Price turned on her heel and climbed into the lead vehicle. Dorian, Kopp and Jones clambered into the jeep behind. Their equipment had already been loaded into the back.

'Jenkins! Is it always a coincidence or do you volunteer to be my driver?' Dorian chuckled when he spotted who their driver was.

'Well sir, it's definitely more interesting driving for you than for most others.' Jenkins replied easily.

'Good to hear it.' Dorian nodded, opening up the case file. 'Now let's take a look at what we're going to be doing.'

 

‘From the surveillance report Price has sent through it looks like two of the five regulars who met at the library have gone missing around the time of these energy surges over the past few weeks.’ Dorian explained as he helped set up the equipment. 'All since another man arrived, he's not been identified yet, though he might have something to do with the alien.’

‘What if he was the alien in disguise?’ Kopp wondered.

'Maybe whatever caused those energy surges is involved with abducting them people.' Jones suggested.

'Perhaps.' Dorian considered. 'Though there've been no reports of UFOs in the area.'

'Might be the same ones from the school. You know, when all the, teachers and students went missing?'

Dorian shook his head, tapping the image of the big green alien. ‘The bat people looked completely different to this alien, but if there is a connection then we might find some of that oil down below. The containment crew should be done checking the area soon, then we can go take a look.'

 

When the command tent and their equipment had been set up, Dorian was asked to help investigate the below-ground library. He and a few other UNIT members took the creaking rickety elevator down, wondering whether they would even find anything down there.

The darkness of the elevator gave way to the harsh fluorescent lights of the library. There were four school-type desks arranged in front of one main desk. There were papers over the desks, as though people had recently been sat down working. Dorian headed over to the desks once the iron grill of the lift had been pulled across. There were newspaper cuttings, photographs of the blue TARDIS police box, more photographs of The Doctor and Rose, and a blonde woman named Jackie Tyler, who Dorian guessed was Rose’s mother.

‘It looks like they were investigating The Doctor,’ Dorian reported to Price over the radio. ‘I’ll get Kopp and Jones to scan for any further energy spikes and amplify them, just in case he turns up.’

‘Very well, Commander.’ Captain Price agreed. Though not everyone knew about Dorian’s heritage, he suspected that Price had been briefed about it when Dorian rejoined UNIT.

‘Sir, we’re setting up the amplifier now,’ Kopp’s voice crackled on the radio.

‘Let me know immediately if you get any readings,’ Dorian replied, going over to the main desk. There was a newspaper cast to the side. Upon closer inspection Dorian observed deep scratches in the mahogany desk. ‘Jenkins, come and look at this.’

The young Private ran his hand over the grooves in the wood. ‘It looks like claw marks.’

‘Look at how they’re deeper at the front and become shallower and deeper, I suspect they’re from feet. Imagine that green thing jumping on the desk, then leaping forward.’

Dorian’s radio crackled. ‘Sir, I think we might have found something, but we can’t identify it.’ Jones said quickly.

‘Keep looking for any alien evidence,’ Dorian called to Jenkins and the other troops. ‘I’ll come back down in a minute.’

The lift rattled its way back up to the surface. ‘What is it?’ Dorian asked, crouching beside Jones at the command tent.

‘I’m not sure,’ Jones said, flicking a switch. ‘We decided to loop the last energy surge in the area through the amplifier and this is what we heard.’

Despite the static of the playback, the grating wheeze of the TARDIS could clearly be heard. Dorian’s skin prickled at the sound. ‘It’s The Doctor. Can you get a location?’

‘We managed to triangulate the signal and we think it’s coming from this small estate,’ Dorian looked to where Jones was pointing on the laptop screen.

‘That’s within a mile! I’ve got to go!’ Dorian didn’t wait for any sort of response, he just ran to the end of the street and sprinted down the cobbled maze of back streets.

‘Commander Smith?’ Jones called after him. ‘Dorian?’

But he kept running, further and further down the alley. Coming the other way he saw the blond man from the CCTV still, he was holding a concrete slab in his arms.

‘WHERE IS HE?’ Dorian yelled at him. ‘WHERE’S THE DOCTOR?’

The man threw himself out of Dorian’s way, against the wall. Pointing to his left, directing Dorian deeper into the winding streets.

‘How rude,’ a small voice said as Dorian flew past the man and his concrete block. Dorian didn’t even stop to wonder where the voice had come from.

There was a dead end up ahead, Dorian rounded the corner to the next alley and ran headlong into the TARDIS. It was parked directly in the entrance to the back of an apartment block.

‘DOCTOR!’ Dorian yelled, banging on the doors of the TARDIS, panting with exhaustion and leaning on his knees for support.

The TARDIS door opened and there he stood. The Doctor. Brown suit, blue shirt, brown coat, big hair and sideburns, looking exactly as he always did. Beside him, Rose poked her head out of the TARDIS, looking curiously at Dorian.

Dorian’s hearts pounded as he tried to find the words. Any words in fact. He had been waiting for this moment for almost his entire life. All two hundred and forty-plus years of it.

‘Do I know you?’ The Doctor asked, considering the breathless man before him.

Dorian shook his head, taking a deep breath. ‘No, but I know you Doctor.’ Dorian drew himself up to his full height, he was almost the same height as the Doctor, and swallowed hard.

‘My name is Dorian Smith. I’m your son.’

 

 


	18. The Girl in the Fireplace

The Doctor stood motionless in the doorway of the TARDIS. Dorian waited with a held breath for some sort of reaction. Rose was the first to break the silence.

‘His son? How can he be your son, Doctor? Doctor?’

‘I don’t know.’ The Doctor murmured quietly, not taking his eyes off Dorian. Dorian could practically see all the thoughts flitting through his mind and the cogs whirring in his brilliant brain.

‘What makes you so sure the Doctor’s your dad?’ Rose asked Dorian. He didn’t miss the accusation in her voice.

‘Other than my two hearts, you mean?’ He replied with a slight smirk. ‘My mother told me.’

‘And who was she?’ Rose asked again.

‘Reinette,’ The Doctor breathed, eyes still on Dorian. Dorian nodded. ‘You look like her.’

‘What, Madame Du Pompadour?’ Rose turned on the Doctor, nostrils flaring. ‘When? While me and Mickey were being held captive by them robots in wigs? Or when we thought you were trapped on the wrong side of that time window? Well, Doctor?’

‘When I was stuck in the time window. The other time windows had closed and I didn’t think I was ever going to see you again.’ The Doctor explained, almost pleading with Rose to understand.

‘What so you just jump into bed with the next blonde you come across?’ Rose raged. The Doctor tried in vain to calm her down and explain that it wasn’t like that. ‘I guess it helped that she was mistress to the King of Fra-’

Dorian coughed loudly and pointedly, glaring at Rose. ‘That’s my mother you’re talking about.’

Rose merely huffed and stomped away into the depths of the TARDIS. When the Doctor was sure that she wasn’t about to return and explode again he turned to Dorian.

‘We’ve got a lot to talk about.’ He beckoned for Dorian to go into the TARDIS, ‘Come on in.’

‘Now you’re just letting anyone in.’ Rose muttered dryly as Dorian followed the Doctor into the TARDIS. She was sat in some battered looking seats beside the TARDIS console.

‘Play nicely Rose.’ the Doctor told her with an arched eyebrow, closing the door of the TARDIS behind them.

Dorian was busy gazing around at the cavernous TARDIS interior. The whole thing was positively organic. The walls were dotted with hexagonal bubbles supported by smooth limbs that looked like they could be wood, but their texture was much rougher. Dorian stood on a floor of metal grills, and as well as the main door, another opening led off to the rest of the sprawling TARDIS. In the centre of it all was the TARDIS console, casting an eerie green glow over the rest of the room. The central beam was surrounded by hundreds of buttons and pulleys that steered the last TARDIS in the universe.

‘So what do you think?’ The Doctor asked, leaning on the console, eagerly awaiting Dorian’s reaction.

Dorian wrenched his eyes away from the high ceiling. ‘It’s different to how I see it in my nightmares.’

The Doctor looked disappointed. ‘Usually people say “it’s bigger on the insi-” what do you mean how you see it in your nightmares? Why do you have nightmares about my ship?’

‘Ever since I can remember I’ve had the same nightmare. I’m in this room, but it’s different. There’s a blue light, not green, and the console was on a platform like this.’ He walked over to the console and pointed. ‘But it was hexagonal and there were metal beams coming down here. Six of them.’ He pointed to the walls. ‘Other than the console, the rest of the room looked like a stately home.’

‘That was how the TARDIS looked before I regenerated.’ The Doctor peered closely at Dorian, pulling his sonic screwdriver from his pocket and buzzing it in Dorian’s face. ‘What are you doing in the nightmare?’

‘Running.’ Dorian replied, trying to ignore the light of the sonic screwdriver as it nearly blinded him.

‘From what?’

‘The Time War.’

The Doctor stopped scanning Dorian. ‘You weren’t there.’

‘But you were.’ Dorian looked his father in the eyes. ‘For some reason I see things through your eyes in my nightmares.’

The Doctor quickly turned away from him and set to working the console. He flipped a switch and the TARDIS wheezed as it dematerialised. Dorian relished the sound.

‘Where are we going?’ he asked.

‘To talk.’ The Doctor replied simply. ‘Which reminds me - why are you dressed like that?’

Dorian looked down at his uniform. ‘Oh, uh, I work for UNIT.’

‘What’s UNIT?’ Rose asked.

‘United Nations Intelligence Taskforce,’ The Doctor answered. ‘I used to work for them. They protect Earth from alien threats, supposedly.’

‘We’ve had a name change since you last worked with us Doctor,’ Dorian corrected. ‘It’s now the Unified Intelligence Taskforce.’

‘But that’s a Royal Navy uniform.’ Rose pointed out. ‘Gold rings on the sleeves are Navy.’

‘How do you- oh, your mum’s boyfriend.’ The Doctor chuckled. ‘The sailor.’

‘My Naval rank carries across to UNIT,’ Dorian explained.

‘He’s quite different to you Doctor.’ Rose commented. ‘A soldier and a sailor? Seems like he doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty.’

‘Sometimes peaceful negotiations aren’t always the answer.’ Dorian said. ‘You thought the same once Doctor.’

The Doctor didn’t reply. The TARDIS noise stopped. ‘Here we are then!’

‘Hold on a minute!’ Rose said loudly, pointing at Dorian. ‘I’ve seen you before, I remember now.’

Dorian stopped in his tracks. ‘A few times actually.’

‘You were there with the werewolf in Scotland.’ Rose’s forehead creased as she tried to recall. ‘You were one of the servants there.’

Dorian nodded. ‘I had worked at Torchwood House for two years before the werewolf killed Sir Robert. Then Lady Isobel sold the place and I went back to London.’

‘And at the coronation, Queen Elizabeth’s Coronation, in the sixties. You offered me a cup of tea and I asked you if we’d met before!’

Dorian nodded again. ‘And I sent you back to the police station when I found you wandering the streets without a face.’

‘There’s somewhere else, I just can’t think where.’ Rose scrutinised him. ‘I remembered it when you smiled.’

Dorian smiled again. ‘You served me once in Henriks.’

‘That’s it!’ She beamed, ‘but that was before I’d ever met the Doctor. How weird is that Doctor?’

The Doctor was silent beside the TARDIS door. He looked a little bit troubled. ‘We definitely have a lot to talk about.’

 

As it turned out, the Doctor had merely taken them across the city to a quiet cafe for their conversation. Rose seemed to have gotten over her immediate dislike for Dorian and was now intrigued by the mystery of their many meetings, though she couldn’t resist throwing the occasional dig at the Doctor to remind him that she was angry with him.

‘You’ve got two hearts right? Like the Doctor.’ She asked Dorian. ‘But you’re half-human. Do you still get sick and stuff?’

‘I do,’ Dorian wasn’t sure where she was going with her questions.

‘How do you manage when you get really sick? I mean, you can’t just go into hospital with two hearts - they’d dissect you in minutes!’

‘I’ve got contacts,’ Dorian explained. ‘If I really needed help then I would go to them and they could get me what I needed without going to hospital. Plus I’m a qualified doctor myself, which always helps.’

‘You’re a doctor too? You’re a Jack of all trades.’ Rose giggled. ‘What do you think about that Doctor?’

But the Doctor wasn’t interested. He leaned forward, closer to Dorian. ‘Why didn’t Reinette mention you in her letter?’

Dorian shrugged. ‘I was only six when she died, I didn’t even know she had written you a letter.’

‘You said she told you about me, what did she say?’

Dorian smiled a little when he thought back to his memories of his mother. ‘She used to tell me that you were a great Lord and when I asked where of, she would say “of now, and of yesterday, and of three weeks from now”. I told her that she wasn’t making sense. Then she told me that you were a lord of Time, and you had saved her from the monsters under her bed all of her life.’ Dorian looked at the Doctor’s reaction. He seemed lost in his own thoughts. ‘She said you were her lonely angel and that you were going to take her to see the stars. But you never did.’

‘I tried.’ The Doctor said sadly. ‘I went back for her but I was too late. I was just in time to see her coffin leave for Paris.’

‘I know,’ Dorian remembered sadly. ‘I saw you in the window beside the King. I thought I had imagined it.’

‘You’ve got a good memory,’ the Doctor commented. ‘Considering you must be, what, two-hundred and forty-six years old.’

‘Two-hundred and forty-seven,’ Dorian corrected. ‘I remember the important things.’

‘How are you still alive?’ Rose blurted out. ‘Can you regenerate?’

‘In a way. If I’m fatally wounded I heal myself, but I don’t change my face like you do Doctor.’

‘Because you’re only half-Time-Lord.’ The Doctor explained. ‘Your cells regenerate without mutating.’

‘It was a shock when it first happened, I can tell you that.’ Dorian chuckled.

‘What happened?’ Rose asked.

‘I got shot in the American Revolution. I was only twenty-one.’

‘Which is why you still look that age now.’ The Doctor concluded. ‘The regeneration stopped your aging process.’

‘Which makes it strange to be asked for proof of age in shops,’ Dorian smirked.

‘I still find it flattering,’ Rose shrugged.

‘You’re not two centuries old.’ Dorian pointed out.

‘You got me there,’ Rose conceded.

‘What are you doing working for UNIT?’ The Doctor asked.

‘Trying to help. You’re not always around when Earth needs you Doctor. Christmas was evidence of that.’

The Doctor’s eyes hardened. ‘I was on that Sycorax ship. They admitted defeat and were leaving in peace.’

‘But when you’re not around? What else are we supposed to do while we sit around and wait?’

‘Not blow ships up when they leave!’ Rose exclaimed. ‘Is that what UNIT does?’

‘It wasn’t UNIT who blew up that ship. I didn’t even go back to working for UNIT until after Christmas.’ Dorian explained.

‘Why did you leave?’

‘For the same reason you did all those years ago Doctor, I didn’t agree with the way they worked.’

‘And why did you go back?’

‘Because I couldn’t fool myself into living a normal life anymore, not when the Earth is becoming more and more aware of extraterrestrial life.’ Dorian took a sip of coffee. ‘Especially with Mr Saxon backing space exploration funding.’

‘What were you doing before you went back to UNIT?’ Rose asked.

‘I was working at the Royal Hope as a trainee doctor.’

‘But you said you were already qualified.’

Dorian shrugged with a grin. ‘I get bored from time to time.’

Rose scoffed. ‘So you just relearn stuff you already know?’ Dorian nodded simply. ‘Now that does sound like you, Doctor.’ Rose admitted.

The Doctor was frowning, playing with the salt shaker on the table. ‘Would you like to see her again Dorian?’ he asked after a pause.

Dorian considered the question. The Doctor was obviously referring to Dorian’s mother. ‘Yes. Yes I would love that. But...’ Dorian didn’t know how to phrase his next sentence.

‘But what?’ Rose placed her hand over Dorian’s.

‘I don’t want to ruin the memory I have of her. You know what people say about meeting your heroes, I remember her being kind and warm and gentle, I don’t want to meet her and find out that my memory of her is just childish nostalgia.’

The Doctor let out a whistling breath. ‘Oh you won’t be disappointed. She was every bit the woman you remember, as well as being a fiercely intelligent woman. A great sense of humour too.’

Rose coughed pointedly.

‘So, um, do you want to see her?’

‘Definitely,’ Dorian couldn’t help the grin spreading across his face. ‘Could I go to the evening of the costume ball when you smashed through the mirror on a horse? Mother used to tell me that as a bedtime story.’

‘Not really what I’d choose to read to a kid.’ Rose muttered. Dorian ignored her.

The Doctor thought aloud. ‘The whole time period is blocked off to us around the castle, but I suppose we could drop you off as close as we can get and you could make your own way to the palace. How does that sound?’

‘Brilliant,’ Dorian beamed. ‘Can we go now?’

‘Of course.’ The Doctor jumped up beside Dorian. ‘Coming Rose?’

Rose pulled herself to her feet and trudged after them to the TARDIS.

 

With the TARDIS wheezing its way through the space-time continuum Dorian was practically jumping about with excitement at seeing his mother again.

‘You’ll have to change if you want to fit in there.’ Rose pointed out.

‘Check the wardrobe. I’m sure I remember seeing an eighteenth century French outfit somewhere in there.’ The Doctor said, twirling a dial on the console. Dorian followed Rose through the TARDIS corridors to the wardrobe, though wardrobe was probably the wrong word for it. It had enough clothes to be a clothing store in its own right.

‘They’re arranged by time period,’ Rose informed Dorian, leading him through the racks of clothes. ‘Here’s Earth, eighteenth century.’ She stopped by a wall of lace and golden embroidery.

‘Thanks, I’ll pick something out.’ Dorian sifted through the outfits. It was another fifteen minutes before he emerged from the curtained dressing room in white tights and periwinkle blue breeches, a silvery waistcoat laced with gold, and a coat of the same blue as the breeches with glittering flowers stitched into the arms and sleeves.

‘You know not many people could pull off that outfit,’ Rose commented from her perch on top of a stack of boxes. ‘But the real question is, can you pull off one of these?’

‘Oh you bet I can,’ Dorian laughed, catching the white wig Rose threw at him.

 

‘Are you ready then Dorian?’ The Doctor asked when he and Rose re-entered the TARDIS console room. ‘Oh, very fetching. You look just like a French aristocrat.’

‘Well I was, once upon a time.’ Dorian reminded his father. ‘Where are you dropping me off?’

‘The outskirts of Paris, December 28th, 1758. That should give you enough time to get a carriage to Versailles and get into the Palace.’

‘The day before my mother’s birthday.’ Dorian noted. ‘But how will I get into the Palace?’

‘Take this,’ The Doctor handed over a small leather card case. ‘Psychic paper. Show it to them and it’ll look like an invitation.’

‘Got it.’ Dorian pocketed the psychic paper. ‘And how will I know where to meet you to get back to my usual time?’

‘Have you got a mobile phone?’ Dorian whipped out his mobile and allowed The Doctor to sonic it. ‘Right, this will now work across time and space. Here’s the TARDIS number, call it when you want us to pick you up and we’ll be right there.’ The Doctor handed back the phone.

‘I’ll keep it off until then,’ Dorian nodded, heading to the TARDIS door. ‘See you in a bit.’

‘Good luck!’ The Doctor beamed, Rose even managed a wave.

Dorian took a deep breath and headed through the TARDIS doors to eighteenth century Paris.

 

 


	19. Army of Ghosts

 

Dorian had finally met his father, he had danced with his mother in the Palace of Versailles, he had watched as his father had saved a room full of French aristocrats from clockwork robots from the 51st century. And then he was ready to go back home.

He had called The Doctor on his mobile from a street corner in Paris, and a moment later the TARDIS had appeared beside him.

Now, back in his UNIT uniform, Dorian was outside the Tower of London having just been dropped off by The Doctor. He had a bunch of missed calls from Malcolm and Kate on his mobile, but Dorian had decided to wait until he was back on Earth before he checked them.

‘You have thirty-three new messages,’ the voicemail told him. Dorian wondered what could possibly be that important. The Doctor assured him that he had only been gone for two hours. But then again, the TARDIS was notoriously unreliable when it came to both dates and locations.

‘First new message; message from Malcolm Taylor: “Hey Dorian, I’m back from the meeting at Torchwood. You were right about that Yvonne Hartman, she’s a nasty piece of work...”’ Dorian went through all the messages, getting more and more worried as he listened.

The last message was also from Malcolm. It seemed that Dorian had been gone not two hours, but two months.

‘Commander Smith?’ a voice asked. Dorian put his phone down and found Private Jenkins staring at him from the compound of UNIT HQ. ‘It is you! Where have you been? You’ve been missing for two months sir!’

‘Yeah, sorry about that,’ Dorian shrugged. ‘I lost track of time.’

Jenkins stared at him. ‘I’m not even going to ask. The Colonel will want to see you immediately, sir. She wants everyone inside during Ghost Shift.’

‘During what?’ Dorian asked as he was escorted inside by Jenkins.

‘Where were you over the past two months?’ Jenkins sighed. ‘Everyone knows about the ten past ten Ghost Shift these days.’

Dorian shrugged. ‘Not me.’

‘Well you’ll see soon enough sir,’ Jenkins assured him. ‘There’s one that stands right by the gate and a few around the offices, but Colonel Chaudry keeps an armed guard on them during Ghost Shift because she doesn’t trust them.’

‘What exactly are these “ghosts”?’ Dorian wondered aloud. ‘And since when do they have shifts?’

‘They’re just that, sir,’ Jenkins replied. ‘Ghosts. As in the souls of dead people, come back to Earth.’

‘What, and everyone’s just fine with that?’

‘It has been two months. Everyone freaked out at first, but now I think we’re all used to them.’ Jenkins stood to the side to let Dorian through to Colonel Chaudry’s office. ‘Here you are sir, I’d best get back down. Good to see you in one piece, sir.’

Dorian waved goodbye to Jenkins and stepped into the waiting area before Chaudry’s office. Her secretary, William, stared at Dorian for a minute before calling through to the Colonel.

 

The Colonel had been unusually brisk with Dorian, demanding to know where he had been. She didn’t pry into Dorian’s time with the Doctor, in fact, she seemed particularly preoccupied, glancing up at the clock on the wall every few seconds.

‘You’d better hurry down to your department,’ Chaudry had said, dismissing Dorian after a few minutes. ‘I’m sure they’re anxious to see you, and you’ll want to see the Ghost Shift yourself.’

Before Dorian could ask once more what this “Ghost Shift” was, Chaudry had picked up the phone on her desk and was already tapping a number in. ‘You’re dismissed, Smith.’

So Dorian headed down through the levels of the Tower of London until he reached the Science Department.

‘Smith!’ Malcolm was, of course, the first to spot Dorian when he stepped through the door. The Professor strode towards Dorian and wrapped him in a friendly hug. ‘Where have you been? Kopp and Jones said you sprinted off and didn’t come back, what were you thinking?’

‘I met him, Malcolm,’ Dorian said quietly, ‘I met my father.’

‘The Doctor?’ Malcolm’s eyes widened. ‘You’ll have to tell me all about it later, we’re two minutes away from the ten past ten Ghost Shift.’

Dorian threw his hands up in the air as Malcolm pottered off to his desk, which was now against the far wall. ‘What in the blazes is this Ghost Shift everyone’s going on about? And why’s everything moved?’

Where there had previously been desks and apparatus everywhere in the main lab, there was now a large empty space cordoned off by cones and red tape, with all manner of hi-tech equipment pointing at the space in the middle.

‘Of course! You went missing on the day of the Torchwood meeting didn’t you?’ Malcolm recalled once Dorian had joined him. Just about the entire department was rushing around, giving Dorian a quick nod and a general “welcome back” greeting, bustling off to prepare for the mysterious Ghost Shift.

‘Let me fill you in,’ Malcolm continued. ‘The meeting that Kate and I went to wasn’t a meeting at all. It was a demonstration. See, Torchwood had found some anomalous readings in the airspace above central London, so they build the Canary Wharf building to get to it.’

‘That sounds like the sort of thing Hartman would do.’ Dorian nodded, wondering what anomalous readings they could have found to warrant building a skyscraper.

‘That day was the first Ghost Shift. We got to the building and were shown up to the top floor where there was this big white wall. Ms Hartman gave this big speech about what we were about to see had never before been seen on Earth. Then they fired particle engines at the wall, and that’s when the first ghosts appeared.’

‘But that doesn’t make any sense,’ Dorian frowned. ‘There’s no such thing as ghosts.’

Malcolm chuckled. ‘I thought so too, but wait until you see them.’

‘One minute to Ghost Shift.’ A robotic voice announced.

‘Just in time, Smith,’ Kate Stewart smiled, dropping by to give Dorian a clap on the back. ‘I’ll be very interested in what you make of our resident ghosts.’

‘Resident?’ Dorian repeated.

‘Oh yes, there’s three that always appears here every Ghost Shift. We’ve named them Casper, Freddie and Nick.’

‘After the friendly ghost, the not-so-friendly Kreuger and Nearly-Headless Nick, of course.’ Malcolm added.

‘But what do they do?’ Dorian asked, trying to wrap his head around “ghosts”. Dorian could easily grasp the concept of time-travel, but ghosts? That was a completely different kettle of fish.

‘Absolutely nothing.’ Kate shrugged. ‘They just stand there in their little triangle. It’s like a formation, every single Shift.’

‘Thirty seconds to Ghost Shift.’

‘Malcolm, is your scanner ready?’ Kate asked.

‘Yes ma’am, all set to go.’ Malcolm chirped, tapping a few keys on his computer.

‘Let’s see whether the ghost energy has increased again this time.’

‘Ghost energy?’ Dorian questioned, feeling particularly out of his depth.

‘See, the ghosts give off this radiation which we’ve termed “ghost energy” and over the past few shifts it’s been increasing. As far as we can tell the radiation is harmless to humans, but we’re trying to harness this radiation to work out where the ghosts may be coming from.’

‘But you said the ghosts were coming from Torchwood,’ Dorian reminded Malcolm.

‘Not exactly. Torchwood are causing the ghosts to appear, but aren’t the origin of the ghosts themselves. I suspect these ghosts are actually from another dimension.’ Malcolm said excitedly.

Dorian didn’t quite share his enthusiasm. Something felt very wrong.

‘Ghost Shift in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one.’

It started as three small specks of light that seemed to unfold and grow into three huge silhouettes, each over six foot tall.

‘What the-’ Dorian couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The three shapes were humanoid, but they had no defining features. They were grey blurs with a white glow around them.

‘Incredible isn’t it?’ Malcolm beamed, watching Dorian’s reaction. Dorian couldn’t have disagreed more. Whether the ghosts were the imprints of departed souls or creatures from another dimension, their presence on Earth was not possible.

The three ghosts did just as Kate had said they would, as in, they did absolutely nothing but stand in a triangular formation. Dorian felt a chill as the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He had ignored his instincts often enough to know that when he felt such a reaction as that, he was usually right about the situation being dangerous.

And then the ghosts just faded.

‘Wh-what happened?’ Dorian asked, staring at the spot where the three ghosts had just been.

‘Ghost Shift ended,’ Kate said simply. ‘It only lasts a few minutes.’

‘When’s the next one?’

‘Quarter to.’

‘Right then,’ Dorian clapped his hands together. ‘Let’s get to work.’

 

***

 

‘AHA!’ Dorian practically jumped for joy at the results appearing on the scanner.

‘What?’ Kate scrutinised the results on screen. ‘There’s nothing here.’

‘Exactly!’ Dorian jumped over to where the three ghosts stood. ‘Gotcha!’

The ghosts faded right in front of him. ‘Oi, you’re not meant to vanish while I’m gloating!’ Dorian pouted.

‘That’s unusual,’ Malcolm checked his watch. ‘That shift finished early.’

Dorian skipped back to the scanner. ‘I wonder why.’

‘What are you so excited about?’ Kate asked, staring at the screen.

‘Look at that there,’ Dorian pointed. ‘That says the ghosts shouldn’t exist, but they do. The only sign that they exist is this radiation.’

‘Ghost energy.’ Kate nodded. ‘But what does that tell us?’

‘You said you wanted to use the radiation to find out where the ghosts originally came from, didn’t you? Well it does, I think.’

‘And? Where are they from?’

‘Like Malcolm said - another dimension.’

Malcolm blinked in surprise. ‘I was right?’

Kate and half the lab stared. ‘Are you serious?’

Dorian grinned. ‘Deadly. See, there are so many theories about other dimensions - parallel universes living alongside our own. I suspect that this radiation, or “ghost energy”, is the result of travel between these dimensions.’

Malcolm tried to follow Dorian’s thoughts. ‘So the ghosts are actually people from a parallel universe?’

‘Yup.’ Dorian bounced on the balls of his feet. ‘And the radiation is increasing with each shift bec-’ Dorian stopped mid-thought. ‘Oh no.’

‘What?’ Malcolm leaned closer to Dorian. ‘What is it?’

Dorian grabbed the professor by the back of the lab coat. ‘What did you say Torchwood were doing to make the ghosts appear?’

‘Uh, th-they fire particle engines at the wall.’ Malcolm stammered.

Dorian ran his hands through his hair. ‘This is very bad.’

‘What is it?’ Kate asked.

‘They’re weakening the walls between dimensions. That’s why the ghost energy is increasing - because they’re becoming more prominent in this world.’ Dorian shot up straight. ‘We have to get to Torchwood.’

Dorian shrugged off his lab coat and headed for the door.

‘Smith!’ Kate called him back. ‘We can’t go to Torchwood. They’ve specifically denied UNIT employees access to their building unless we’re invited.’

Dorian waggled his eyebrows. ‘And that is why it’s a good thing I’m still an employee there, isn’t it?’

Malcolm groaned that this was a very bad idea, but Dorian ignored him and headed out the door. He booked out a UNIT jeep and flashed his ID at the guard on the gate.

‘Canary Wharf, here I come.’ He muttered to himself, pulling out onto the road.

 

***

 

Dorian slipped his Torchwood ID card from his wallet and swiped it on the scanner beside the door. He let out a breath when the light flashed green and granted him access.

‘Bingo.’ Dorian adjusted his jacket and stepped through the automatic door. He found his way to the lift and pushed the button to go up. He heard the lift approaching.

The lift doors parted. Dorian saw matt-black heeled boots and a tailored black skirt and jacket. Yvonne Hartman was flanked by two Torchwood soldiers.

‘Well well, Dorian Smith. Long time no see. Going up?’

Dorian stepped into the lift beside Yvonne. He put on his most charming smile. ‘Yvonne, lovely to see you again.’

‘Oh I should say.’ Dorian didn’t like the way Yvonne was smiling at him, the red lipstick painting a carnival-esque leer on her face. ‘You know you’re just in time. We were on our way to greet your father, The Doctor. He’s about to arrive.’

‘That’s just what I wanted to hear,’ Dorian beamed, ‘Shall we greet him together? I could introduce you.’

‘Ah, you’ve met now, have you?’ The doors opened once more and Yvonne’s smile dropped. ‘Take him away.’

The two soldiers moved together to grab Dorian by the arms and remove him from the lift. ‘Yvonne, what are yo- get off me!’

‘I’ll go on and greet the Doctor myself,’ Yvonne called as the doors closed between them. ‘I’m sure I’ll drop by and visit later, Dorian.’

Dorian groaned and let the two soldiers take him away. He saw the hangar bay and knew exactly where he was being led - to the basement storage centre of Torchwood. He had really hoped that Yvonne would have forgotten the incident of their last parting, but evidently she hadn’t.

 

 


	20. Doomsday

Yet another disadvantage of being half-Time Lord was a lower than average tolerance for boredom. Sat there in his makeshift cell (actually a storage cupboard of reinforced glass) Dorian had long since given up on trying to keep himself occupied, instead he had resorted to trying to talk to his guard, Sebastian.

‘So, Seb, can I call you Seb?’ Dorian prattled on, ‘You’re not very talkative are you Seb? You know who else was called Sebastian? That cr-’ _CRASH._ ‘What was that?’

Dorian pressed himself against the glass. The noise had come from above them. Sebastian shouldered his rifle and tried to call someone on his radio. All he got was static.

‘Stay here!’ The soldier ordered, striding off to find out what was going on.

‘SEBASTIAN!’ Dorian yelled after him. He huffed, his breath fogging up a patch of glass. ‘Fine, I’ll stay here.’

Dorian looked around for something to help him get out of his cell. All he had was himself. He slipped off his jacket and took a deep breath. Then he ran, screaming, straight at the glass.

It took a good fifteen minutes, and a possibly broken shoulder, for Dorian to smash his way through the reinforced glass door, but he eventually staggered out and looked around for where to go. He decided to go the way Sebastian had gone and set off down the long corridor.

 

Dorian poked his head around the corner of the hangar bay. The scene in front of him was chaos. Torchwood troops were being shepherded out of the bay by seven foot tall metal men. Ammunition casings lay scattered across the floor. Dorian ducked behind a barrel as two of the cyborgs clunked past him. On closer inspection Dorian recognised them as Cybermen, but a more modern design than he has seen before.

Carefully, cradling his broken arm, Dorian snuck over to the stairwell. Thinking quickly Dorian remembered Malcolm saying that the breach causing all of the problems was on the top floor. That was where he might find some answers. He headed up.

It was all going well until he ran into a Cyberman as he was about to reach the top floor.

‘You will be upgraded.’ The cyborg informed Dorian.

‘Oh really? And what does that involve?’ Dorian asked as the Cyberman pushed him back down the stairs.

‘You are injured. Cybermen will remove pain and injury.’

‘That’s a shame, I was getting quite attached to my broken shoulder.’ Dorian pretended to stumble. ‘Sorry, I’m a bit unsteady. You wouldn’t want to upgrade me. I’d be a useless Cyberman.’

‘Then you will be deleted.’

‘Oh, maybe not.’ Dorian stared into those dark eye sockets. ‘Shall we carry on then, upgrading and all that?’

‘Oi!’ Someone above them shouted. Dorian and the Cyberman looked up. A woman in a black uniform pointed a massive gun at the Cyberman. Dorian threw himself against the wall as she opened fire - one blast and the Cyberman crashed to the floor.

‘Thanks!’ Dorian called up at his unknown saviour.

‘No problem.’ She vanished from the bannister.

‘Hey! Wait!’ Dorian jumped to his feet and ran back up the steps. ‘Who are you? How did you kill that Cyberman?’

Dorian took the stairs three at a time and ran through corridor after corridor, bursting into one large white room.

‘Dorian!’

Dorian stared. Right in front of him was The Doctor, grinning from ear to ear.

‘Nice of you to drop by, you can give us a hand.’

‘You know this guy?’ A balding man in a suit asked.

‘We’ve met,’ The Doctor nodded. ‘And he’s my son.’

‘He’s what?’ A man with short spiky hair looked from Dorian to the Doctor.

‘Nevermind the details.’ The Doctor waved away their questions. ‘Dorian, you’ve got some expertise with weapons. More than I have I’d wager. So, you help these guys open up the bonding chamber on these and maybe we stand a chance against the Daleks.’

Dorian paled. ‘The Daleks? Here?’

‘Ah, you know about them too.’ The Doctor scratched the back of his head. ‘Yeah, long story. Daleks came through from the Void, Cybermen followed and now they’ve invaded Earth.’

Dorian picked up one of the guns and examined it. In a few moments he had stripped the barrel to reveal the bonding chamber.

‘Brilliant!’ The Doctor grinned. ‘Now before I go and have a chat with our Cyberleader, I’m going to show you how to make these work against polycarbide.’

‘What’s polycarbide?’ Dorian asked.

‘The skin of a Dalek,’ the spiky haired guy answered. ‘I’m Jake.’

‘Dorian,’ he murmured absently, looking across at the rest of the room. There were a series of desks, three of which had people lying face down on them, clearly dead. The rest of the room was an expanse of white with two levers on either side.

‘Is that the breach?’ He asked the Doctor, who nodded. Dorian cast his eyes over the three Torchwood workers at their desks, he wondered if he had known any of them. His eyes darted back to the figure slumped over on the front left desk. It couldn’t be.

He dropped the gun on the table and made a beeline for the woman.

‘Oh my God, Martha!’ Dorian dropped to his knees beside the body of Martha Jones. He carefully lifted her head from the desk, so she was sitting up, and took a good look at her face. It was her. But why she was working for Torchwood Dorian had no idea.

A hand rested on Dorian’s back. ‘You knew her?’

Dorian looked to the Doctor, crouched beside him, sympathy in his old eyes. ‘I worked with her at the hospital before I went back to UNIT. We were-’ Dorian’s words caught in his throat.

‘I’m so sorry. The Cybermen did this to her. They killed her and made her their slave.’

Dorian shook his head. ‘I just don’t understand why she’s here. She wouldn’t be working for Torchwood. She wanted to be a doctor.’ Dorian glanced up at the computer screen and his hearts nearly stopped.

Adeola Jones.

It wasn’t Martha.

The body that Dorian was crying over wasn’t that of Martha Jones. A relieved laugh bubbled up inside him.

‘What is it?’ The Doctor asked, looking with concern at Dorian’s sudden mood shift.

‘It’s not her. It’s not Martha!’ Dorian got back to his feet and fumbled in his pockets for his phone. He quickly dialled in Martha’s number which he knew from memory. It rang twice before she picked up.

‘Hello?’

‘Martha, thank goodness you’re alright!’

‘Dorian?’ She sounded upset. ‘Where the hell have you been? Are you alright?’

‘Yes, well, for now I’m right as rain.’ Dorian beamed. ‘It’s so good to hear your voice. Where are you?’

‘At the hospital. Listen, these Cybermen are everywhere. You’ve got to stay hidden. There’s loads of them just standing outside the hospital - they’re not letting us leave.’

‘You just stay there Martha, and keep safe okay? Hopefully this will all be over soon.’ Dorian was about to hang up. ‘Oh, and Martha?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Do you know someone called Adeola Jones?’

‘That’s my cousin, why?’

Dorian exhaled slowly, choosing his words. ‘I am so sorry Martha. They killed her. The Cybermen killed your cousin.’

He heard her gasp and start to cry on the other end of the phone. He tried to apologise but she hung up.

The Doctor put a comforting hand on Dorian’s shoulder - not the broken one, thankfully.

‘I don’t mean to rush you Dorian, but Rose is down there with four Daleks.’

Dorian pulled himself together, pocketing his mobile and putting all thoughts of Martha behind him. ‘Okay, polycarbide. Let’s do this.’

 

***

 

The blaster was heavy in Dorian’s hands as he waited on the other side of the thick steel doors. The Doctor was in there already, talking to the Daleks, trying to find out what they were up to.

Beside Dorian stood Jake and a Cyberman. Both with blasters modified to shoot at polycarbide. On the opposite door was Pete, the balding man who was Rose’s father from a parallel universe, Chrissy, another troop, and another Cyberman. They were waiting for the signal from the Doctor which would blast the doors of their hinges, allowing Dorian and the others to charge in blasters-firing to take down some Cybermen.

Dorian pressed his ear to the door in an attempt to hear what was going on on the other side.

‘Doesn’t kill, doesn’t wound, doesn’t maim.’ He heard the Doctor say, his voice muffled by the steel. ‘But I’ll tell you what it does do. It’s very good at opening doors.’

‘Get back!’ Dorian pulled Jake away from the door, just as the rigged hinges exploded in a shower of sparks. Dorian jumped forward with Jake, firing at the blue eye stalks through the smoke, the Cyberman behind them following with a robotic ‘DELETE DELETE.’

Their modified weaponry did little against the Daleks. The only sign that the polycarbide blasters were doing anything at all were the cries of ‘CASING IMPAIRED! CASING IMPAIRED!’ echoing from the four Daleks around the room. Bullets rattled from rifles, trying to find any weak spot in the Daleks’ casings.

The Doctor was crouching on the floor, ushering Rose out.

‘FIRE POWER INSUFFICIENT!’ The black Dalek announced. Dorian took aim at that one and fired another two blasts at it.

‘Daleks will be deleted.’ A Cyberman behind Dorian said. Dorian ducked down and spotted Pete and Rose slipping away from the fighting. A dark-skinned man, dressed like those from Pete’s parallel world, grabbed Pete’s blaster from the floor and opened fire at the nearest Dalek.

‘MICKEY! COME ON!’ Rose yelled from the doorway. Dorian released another blast at the black Dalek and sprinted for the exit.

‘ADAPT TO WEAPONRY.’ The black Dalek cried. ‘FIREPOWER RESTORED!’

Dorian ran past a Cyberman, just as it was hit by a blast of pure energy from a Dalek blaster. He turned back to check if anyone was left in the room. He spotted Mickey legging it towards him, trying to keep low. A burning handprint emblazoned on the casing of the Daleks’ mysterious property.

‘Dorian, Jake - protect the stairwell!’ The Doctor ordered, heading in the opposite direction. ‘The rest of you, come on!’ Dorian and Jake sprinted to the stairwell.

‘What do we do now?’ Jake asked, looking around at the bare staircase.

Dorian shrugged. ‘What the Doctor said - protect the stairwell.’ He shouldered his blaster and Jake shouldered his rifle, both preparing for whatever would come through the doors.

 

Ten minutes later and still nothing had threatened the safety of their stairwell. Dorian cursed.

‘What is it?’ Jake asked.

‘The Doctor knew nothing would come this way.’ Dorian relaxed his grip on the blaster, resting his injured arm on it like a sling. ‘That’s why he told us to go here, to keep us out of the way.’

Jake cursed too. ‘We can’t stay here, we’ve got to help.’

‘Agreed.’ Dorian looked up the flight of stairs. ‘If we can get to the hangar bay we can find out what’s going on.’

 

They leapt up the steps and rushed towards the sounds of shooting and shouting. Dorian poked his head around the door. The four Daleks were in the centre of the hangar bay, Torchwood troops and Cybermen alike were shooting on them to no avail.

‘OVERRIDE ROOF MECHANISM!’ The black Dalek ordered, clearly the leader of the Daleks. Above them the ceiling of the bay slowly peeled open to reveal a blue sky, stained with smoke from the burning city.

‘ELEVATE.’ The black Dalek and the unknown casing rose up out of the hangar.

‘We’ve got to get to the top floor.’ Dorian realised. He turned to Jake. ‘Go and find the others, take the lift, it’ll be faster.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘Help out down here. I’m still part of Torchwood, I’ve got to do my part.’

Jake clapped him on the back. ‘Nice meeting you.’ The Essex boy jogged back up the corridor to the lift. Once he was out of sight Dorian slipped into the battle raging in the hangar bay. He seized a rifle lying on the floor and opened fire, aiming for the remaining three Daleks.

 

The battle continued with the Cybermen taking heavy losses, Dorian did his best to usher troops out of the bay before the Daleks could turn on them. Thankfully, both Daleks and Cybermen seemed more interested in trying to defeat each other that they were completely ignoring the humans in the room. Dorian crept under the red and blue lasers shooting over his head.

‘GET OUT OF HERE!’ Dorian yelled at a trio of troops crouching behind some boxes. He herded them towards the doors. ‘Find somewhere safe and stay there! There’s nothing you can do to help here.’ He edged back into the hangar, scanning around for more troops.

He was just about to shepherd another two soldiers out of the bay when the Daleks and remaining Cybermen stopped firing. The sudden silence was as deafening as the incessant shooting. Dorian peeked over the top of a box and saw the combatants were lifted off their feet, or casing in the Daleks’ case. Then, as one, they all shot into the air, tumbling through the open roof and up into the sky. Dorian and the remaining soldiers emerged from their shelters behind crates and boxes, or in a few cases from the alien glider, and looked up. A stream of Daleks and Cybermen flowed up from across the city to the top floor of Torchwood Tower - back to the breach.

‘WAHOO!’ One soldier cheered, then his joy caught like wildfire and they were all cheering and clapping and crying that they were still alive. Dorian found himself hugging and being hugged, but he excused himself and sneaked away from the joyous celebrations. He had to get to the top floor.

He took the lift as far as it would go, then ran up the steps to the main office, but was stopped in his tracks on the penultimate floor by a lone Cyberman.

‘OH! WOAH! Don’t shoot!’ Dorian yelled, spotting the blaster in the Cyberman’s hand. He raised his hands in surrender.

‘I did my duty.’ The Cyberman said quietly. Then Dorian saw the trail of oil running from its eye socket. ‘For Queen and Country.’

Dorian lowered his hands, recognising the voice behind the voice manipulator. ‘Yvonne?’

‘I did my duty for Queen and Country.’ The Cyberman repeated. It looked at Dorian and dropped the blaster from its hands. ‘Please.’

Dorian took a step forward and picked up the blaster from the steps. ‘We can try to help Yvonne, try to reverse the process. It doesn’t have to end like this.’

‘I did my duty.’ She said again. ‘Now do yours.’

Dorian swallowed hard and shouldered the gun. ‘You did your duty, Yvonne Hartman. And I am so so sorry.’

He closed his eyes and squeezed the trigger. He heard her crash to the floor but still he kept his eyes tight shut. After a moment he exhaled slowly, stepping over the Cyberman shell.

 

The white walled office was deserted when Dorian burst in. The only indications of recent activity were the smashed glass littering the office and the clamps fixed to the walls. There was no sign of the Doctor, or Rose, or anyone. Dorian refused to fear the worst - the Doctor couldn’t be dead.

Instead, Dorian sprinted all the way back downstairs to the basement storage facility where he knew the TARDIS would be.

Dorian caught a glimpse of a dirty white converse slipping around the corner.

‘Doctor!’ Dorian caught up with him just as he was about to unlock the TARDIS. ‘What happened Doctor?’

The man looked grief-stricken. ‘I did it. I closed the breach. The Cybermen and the Daleks are all gone now.’

Dorian didn’t understand the Doctor’s sadness, unless... ‘And Rose?’

The Doctor wiped a hand across his face and turned to Dorian. ‘Safe. In a parallel universe. Forever.’

Dorian couldn’t imagine the pain his father was going through. ‘I’m sorry Doctor, I know how much she meant to you - means - to you. What are you going to do now?’

The Doctor rested one hand on the TARDIS, running a hand affectionately across the paintwork. ‘I don’t know. The usual, I suppose - keep travelling, have more adventures.’ The Doctor glanced down at Dorian. ‘You could come with me if you’d like?’

Dorian didn’t know what to say. His lips parted in surprise. The offer of travelling with the Doctor? It was what Dorian had dreamed of for years - centuries in fact. But not like this. Dorian shook his head. The Doctor’s hearts weren’t in it, he was just offering because he didn’t know what else to do.

‘I’m sorry Doctor, I can’t.’ The Doctor looked at least the faintest bit surprised. ‘The Earth needs UNIT now, more than ever. And UNIT needs me. I can’t just go now.’

The Doctor nodded, unlocking the TARDIS and stepping through the doorway.

‘Doctor?’ He stuck his head back out of the TARDIS. ‘She is still alive, remember that.’

The Doctor nodded again. Dorian didn’t know what else he could say to try and cheer his father up. He turned to walk away.

‘Dorian,’ The Doctor’s voice was quiet and husky.

Dorian turned back to the TARDIS. ‘Yes Doctor?’

‘You’ve got my number. Just stay safe alright?’

‘I’ll try,’ Dorian managed with a small smile.

The Doctor closed the TARDIS door with a smart clunk and Dorian watched as the deep blue police box faded from sight with its characteristic wheeze.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a huge thank you to thestairwell for pushing me to get this first multi-chap finished. There will indeed be a "The Doctor's Son II" which I will publish soon.   
> If you have any ideas for what you'd like to see in the second book, either send me a message or include it in a comment.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed the fic   
>  LittleDragon94 :) x


End file.
